Black Plague
by fawkes21
Summary: **STORY COMPLETE!!**
1. A Different Dream

Author's Note: This is a sequel to "New Messiah. You really do need to read it first; otherwise a lot of things won't make sense. I wasn't going to do a sequel but since I had quite a few requests for one, I figured I should try and placate the masses. I don't know if it will live up to the original (sequels seldom do) but I will do my best. Please review; I thrive on those things. I wish everyone a safe and happy holiday season…..and while I am wishing, I wish that the guys from CSI would turn up under my Christmas tree this year. Sadly, until my wish comes true, I don't own any of them.

*                      *                      *

The Desert

            Out in the Nevada desert, under the cover of night, the lone coyote emerges through the clouds of dust. He ambles across the desert with a swagger of confidence that comes with being the king of his domain. The sky is brilliant ebony and the bloodless moon is shining brightly. But there are clouds on the horizon. A storm is moving in. A storm that will bring not only rain, but change. The rain will not wash away the past but it will allow the future to emerge. One may not like what the future has in store but you can't stop the future from coming any more then you can stop the rain from falling. The desert seems so mysterious but it is actually the most honest place there is. There is nowhere to hide out here. There are no secrets here. Everything is out in the open, both in the literal sense and in the figurative one. The coyote continues his journey across the vast expanse of desert. He is on a mission on this evening. He is making his way to the place where it all began. It is the same place where it will all end. A slight breeze dashes through the night air. He pauses, listening intently to what the wind has to say. The wind is laughing again. She is all-knowing and she sees now what is about to unfold before it. The wind has revealed her secrets once before and it is now her turn to sit back and watch others do the unveiling. She relishes to opportunity to witness something so historic.  The wind is a tricky character. She embraces both worlds: the good and the evil. Sometimes she is gentle and reveals to us what would not otherwise be known. Other times she is vindictive and leads the innocent into situations that will test the very stamina of their being. But on this night she is neither good nor bad. She is simply present. Her only mission on this night is to bring in to storm clouds. As the clouds obscure the moon from view, the coyote pauses again. It perks its ears, listening to a sound only it can hear. It is not the wind this time, but rather fate. It seems that on this evening, the coyote has a date with destiny. He will not be the only one. An unseen force encourages the coyote to move more quickly towards his destiny. The clouds are growing heavier now. Change is almost upon them. The coyote must act quickly if he wants to succeed in its mission.

            As the creature quickens his pace, a hare darts out and sprints across the path. The coyote lets it run without a second glance. On any other night he would have given chase to the hare. But tonight is different. The coyote senses that he is not the most dominant being in the desert tonight. Tonight the coyote is both the hunter and the hunted. He is hunting the answers to questions that haven't even been asked yet. He is being hunted by a presence that wants to make sure nothing destroys its chance at glory. The coyote still possesses strength and power but there are forces at work that could strike down that power with a crushing blow. The coyote presses on, not wanting to tempt those forces into acting against him. He wants to accomplish his mission and go back to his old way of living. For the time being however, he must be a pawn in the game that fate is playing. Once he resigns himself to this fact, he continues onward. It won't be long now. He doesn't even flinch when the first rumble of thunder explodes across the desert.

*                      *                      *

Las Vegas, Nevada      

The dream came again tonight. The dream comes every night.

_"These are the bodies of children"_

            From the moment those first, horrible words had been spoken he had known it would be a nightmare. What he had not known was that the nightmare would be unending. It would get worse before it would get better. The nightmare was one which he could not awake from. It haunted him every night.

_The evil could not be stopped._

            Well that was certainly true enough. He had always thought that good would win over evil in the end, but he had lost that belief after the case. Good may be the ideal way to live, but it sure wasn't the best way to win a fight. Evil was much stronger and could corrupt even the most gentle of souls. Evil didn't care who it destroyed and as a result, could sweep through a town of innocence and leave mass heartache in its wake. He had seen the evil; he had looked it right between the eyes. Outside, the heavens opened up and the rain began to fall.

*                      *                      *

The Desert

            The coyote was fighting against the pounding rain as he struggled to reach his destination. It was getting harder and harder to move as the wind picked up. The coyote would not be deterred. The lightening flashed every now and then, illuminating the desert with its angry light. The rain came down in torrents. It was not the welcome rain that the dry desert craves every once in a while. It was the rain of anger and malice. It came down with the intent of harming those who stood in its way. It rained down change. The rain brought with it a new wave of fear. They just hadn't tasted it yet. Back in Las Vegas, the dream continued to attack his sleeping mind.

*                      *                      *

Las Vegas, Nevada

            With every crack of thunder the words grew louder in his ears.

_"You see, I think that it is living here that is what is what makes people unhappy. This world is cold and unfriendly. Sometimes I am the only one that sees that. Everyone else buys into all the lies that we are fed about the joys of life."_

            How can someone possess such hatred and bitterness? He knew now that it was the evil that was speaking. The evil took her over. The evil possessed her. It made her do horrible things to her children. It had made her hurt him. As the dream grew stronger, he grew weaker. He knew the ending but couldn't bring himself to finish the story. It was a tale so frightening that he wished he could bury it forever. But when the story has embedded itself in your mind, that is simply not an option. He tried desperately to ruse himself from his dream state, but his mind refused. He was forced to live the memory over again, as he did every night.

_"This world is what's evil! People don't want to believe it, but it's true. It's the dreamers that you need to worry about. The dreamers are the ones that are going to be corrupted by this world. This world will take their beautiful dreams and destroy them. It can't be allowed to happen! My boys were dreamers. So are you, I can tell. The world wants to take the dreamers and eliminate them. So I took it upon myself to deprive the world of what it thinks it is allowed to take. I will purge the world of the one thing it really wants: the dreamers. I am the new messiah!"_

            He cried out loud then as he remembered her next actions. He gasped out, desperate for someone to come save him from the dream. To save him from himself. He could not escape the thoughts that tormented his mind and he ordered himself to awaken. He knew though that he would not awaken until the evil got to relive its actions one last time. As the knife flashed through the air before finding its target, he cried out again. This was how the dream always ended. Miles away, the coyote stopped in his tracks.

*                      *                      *

The Desert

            So this was it. It was such an unassuming sort of place. No one would ever suspect the sheer evil that encompassed this area. The coyote moved forward with caution. He stood on a rock and looked down. The rain had made a small river that snaked its way across the dirt with surprising strength. The coyote moved down so to get a closer look. The lightening lit up the sky, shedding light onto the scene before him. A howl escaped his throat and pierced through the storm. Back in Vegas, the dreamer awoke with a start.

*                      *                      *

Las Vegas, Nevada

            He did what he always did when he awakened from the dream: he sat straight up in bed and turned on the lights. His hands probed the site of the injury, as if to confirm that the events had actually occurred. He had been left with a scar, a permanent reminder of his ordeal. He didn't know how he was supposed to move forward when he had a lingering physical reminder of what had happened. He was shaking. It wasn't just from the usual events of the dream. Those he could manage. Something was nagging him this time. The dream was always the same – but tonight there was something different. He tried hard to remember what it was that was that had changed. Then he realized what it was that was tugging at him. Every time before, the attack had occurred in broad daylight. He recalled looking out the kitchen window into the side yard of the house. There had only been sunlight and dust. This time however, it had been dark outside. There had been a storm brewing on the horizon. He struggled to remember the rest of the details. There had been a coyote in this dream. It had stood on a rock in the distance watching him. Its eyes had burned a hole into his soul. The eyes had tried to convey a message to him. The coyote had been standing near something, but he had not been able to make out what it was. But the coyote wanted him to find it. As his brain pulled itself into the waking world, he felt a knot of fear form in the pit of his stomach. He knew what was going to happen. He had an eerie premonition and knew that the nightmare was just about to get bigger. The evil was no longer confined to his mind. The evil had been released. In the wee hours of the morning, with rain pouring down outside his window, Nick Stokes spoke aloud.

"It's coming back".

*                      *                      *

The Desert

            The coyote watched as the water that was running beneath his paws turned red. There was nowhere to hide now.

It was time.


	2. Red River

Author's Note: Whew I am glad I got through the first chapter in one piece. I didn't really have a game plan; I just sat down and typed for about an hour. But I think I have the plan figured out, so the rest of the story should have some semblance of organization to it. I don't own the song "Bad Moon Rising" It belongs  to Creedence Clearwater Revival (but it is a wicked cool song so go listen to it!).We all know that I am not making any money off this (boo!) and that I don't own any of the characters (double boo!). 

*                      *                      *

            Nick had not been able to fall back asleep after his dream. He had laid awake for hours trying to sort out his thoughts. He couldn't explain it; he knew something was wrong. He had a gut instinct that something very bad was about to happen. It was a strange premonition – kind of like when you predict what song will come on the radio seconds before the first chords begin to play. Except this feeling was much bigger than a song. Nick had analyzed the dream over and over again trying to decipher what it all meant. He didn't understand the symbolic nature of the night sky or the coyote. He wasn't all that great at interpreting dreams anyways and he finally decided that this was one puzzle that he was going to have to abandon before he ever solved it. He was feeling lonely and more than a little shaken up so he decided to head into work early. There was always plenty of paperwork to be done and he just needed to be in the company of his team. Yet despite his desire to be around his friends, he couldn't help but feel a little bit bitter when he was around them as well. Their concern for him had waned since he had been released from the hospital nearly three months ago. He didn't expect them to cling to feelings of fear for his well-being but he realized that he and they were operating on very different wavelengths as of late. He had suffered a near death experience and as a result, his outlook on life was very different. He made a point to tell everyone how much he cared for them. He just looked at life in a much more positive light. He didn't want to worry about the future; he just wanted to live in the now. The trouble was, his team mates had not had the same type of experience. They didn't have that life altering moment of clarity. They had returned to their routine life of work where Nick had discovered that a job was not the most important thing. He had experienced a shift in his priorities and it bothered him that his friends didn't understand or recognize that. They seemed to think that it was just a phase that he would grow out of. They tolerated his speeches about the true meaning of life with good humor but his words didn't carry much weight. They were consumed by their jobs. Nick was consumed by the sense of entrapment he felt. He had often wondered if he would be better off leaving the team. He felt like he needed to escape, to truly experience life. He always managed to convince himself that he was deluding himself and that work was simply something he was going to have to ease himself back into. He didn't realize it then but he was lying to himself. The real reason he wouldn't leave wasn't because of the necessity of the job but rather the security it provided. The job provided a stable backdrop that allowed him to ignore the very real issues that he was going through. He was still plagued by nightmares of the attack and his fear was slowly eating away at him. His friends would deny it to themselves but Nick had changed. He was far more forlorn and withdrawn than they had ever seen him. He was more pessimistic and his level of work had slipped. It hadn't slipped so much that it had compromised the integrity of his investigations, but it had suffered. He just didn't care anymore. He buried himself in work because it turned his thoughts away from Rachel and the evil that she had imposed upon him. Everyday he battled his demons but the war raging on within him was so intensely private that his team mates didn't see the sheer force of it. He used his job as a shield to protect himself from the fears that he wasn't allowing himself to confront. But he doesn't realize that fears can't be suppressed. They will resurface; often at times when we can least afford them to.

            As he drove to work however he didn't dwell on his thoughts. He flipped the radio on to an oldies station. He just needed some light music that didn't carry some deep message with it. Country music was great but sometimes he felt like his radio was giving him a lecture on morality. 

_I hear hurricanes ablowing_

_I know the end is coming soon_

_I hear rivers overflowing_

_I hear the voice of rage and ruin._

Hmmmm he thought. Interesting song given his current feelings of uneasiness. After last night's dream, the song summed up his fears pretty well. There was a bad moon rising. He had a premonition and he needed to share it with someone. He went up to the CSI headquarters and was semi-relieved, semi-annoyed to find that the whole team was already there.

"Hey, you guys are having a party and you didn't invite me? Man, it's a good thing that I don't get my feelings hurt too easily". His tone was light but they could all see the lines of worry etched on his face.

"Well if we invited you then we would have to invite your little lackey, Greg. By the way, where is our little lab rat?" Sara had a playful smirk on her lips as she tried to keep her tone teasing. Before Nick could reply, an indignant voice floated through the open door.

"Your little 'lab rat' is slaving away so that you can proudly take my findings and flaunt them as your own. Really, its okay – I don't need accolades. I live to make you people look good" Greg's reply had just a hint of annoyance to it. He had been run ragged around here lately. It seemed like every criminal in Vegas waited until he started his shift to commit their crimes. There was a never-ending stream of samples coming through the lab doors. Nick felt a small twinge of regret that he had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had barely said more then two words to his best friend in the last four days. He would have to remember to stop in and talk to Greg before he left. He sighed unconsciously and sank into the couch.

Catherine looked at him in that knowing, maternal sort of way. "Everything alright Nick?"

He shook his head ruefully. "I had the dream again last night. Nothing new there…….." He didn't want to tell everyone. He had only wanted to tell Warrick, or maybe Cat but now he had everyone watching him intently, waiting for him to continue.

"Anyways, this time the setting was different. I mean, we were still in the kitchen when she….well you know. Anyways, the difference was that it was nighttime outside. There was a storm brewing and there was this coyote. It was just watching me and I swear it was trying to tell me something. I just have a really bad feeling, that's all. I don't mean to unload all of this on you guys, I'm sorry."

Grissom looked at him sternly. "First of all, don't apologize. We're a team and we want to help you sort through this. Second of all, what kind of bad feeling do you have? What is it that you're worried about?"

"I don't really know exactly" Nick shrugged. "I just have this gut instinct that something really bad is about to happen. I feel like this evil presence is hanging over my head. Over all our heads actually. It's the same awful feeling I had when Rachel attacked me. It is just a feeling that there is some sort of evil force at work."

Sara fought back a grin. She wasn't laughing at his fears; he just sounded so dramatic. She thought that he was overreacting. "Look Nick, it's just a dream. And lots of people have recurring dreams that change over time. I have a dream where I am being chased at a carnival and every time I have it, I get a little bit further away and I see a little bit more of the story. So it's not that strange for the dream to be a bit different this time." There was triumph in her voice, like that explained everything. Her response did nothing to assuage his fears.

"Yeah, but I am telling you, I woke up with this evil presence hanging over me. I swear that something bad is going to happen. It feels exactly like it did last time. Maybe Rachel is getting someone else to carry out the plan. Maybe I know because I have some sort of strange bond to her" Okay, he knew he was reaching but he had to convince them that there was something really wrong here. To his dismay, they didn't look worried; they looked sympathetic. They had that look that plainly said: "Oh poor Nicky. His near death experience has caused him to go off the deep end". He wanted to protest but instead stayed silent. Maybe they were right. Maybe he was losing it. Grissom excused himself and left the room for a moment. In his absence no one spoke. Nick was feeling torn between fear of his premonition and the betrayal he felt because his friends wouldn't even believe him. He felt like he was losing his mind. Warrick, Catherine and Sara stayed silent because they didn't know what to say. Privately they all thought that Nick was being pushed closer and closer to the edge but none of them knew how to reach them. The four sat in awkward silence until Grissom returned a few minutes later.

"Nick, I just called the psychiatric institute that Rachel was committed to. She has had no outside contact and there have been no recent releases of any patients that she could have tried to convince of her plan. There is no way that anything she did before can happen again. It was just a dream. Maybe you've been pushing yourself too hard lately." Even as he said those words, he knew that wasn't the problem. If anything, Nick had been pushing himself less hard in recent weeks but now was not the time to bring that up. He needed to reassure Nick that everything was fine.

"You're right. It was just a crazy dream – a very real feeling dream, but a dream nonetheless. I am not going to worry about it" His tone belied his thoughts. Deep down he knew that he was right but he didn't need to drag everybody on the team down. He would deal with it on his own. He always did. He began to attack a mound of paperwork and didn't look up until he heard Grissom answer a phone that Nick hadn't even realized was ringing. He could only hear half the conversation, but what he heard was interesting.

"Jim? Slow down……..you're where?........You're kidding me………yeah, we'll be right there……….yes, ALL of us……….I know what I'm doing". He hung up the phone and faced his team. His usually strong features were now contorted with a look of shock, fear and confusion. He thought out his words carefully before he spoke.

"That was Brass. There's been a very…….bizarre killing about an hour from here. The body was discovered this morning. I want everyone on it. Just get in the Tahoe and I will explain more when we get there." He left no room for argument. The team exchanged looks and followed him to the car. He didn't tell them where they were going; he just drove. They didn't question him but as time went on they all realized that the surroundings looked increasingly familiar. They had been driving for almost an hour when Sara spoke. 

"Wait a minute. We've been here before. Isn't this where…….." She looked inquisitively at Grissom. He nodded, but it was Nick who finished her sentence.

"We're going to where we found the bodies of Cory and Dale Hubert. There's been another murder"

*                      *                      *

            The desert was far cooler this time as they arrived at the crime scene. There was no sun today. Instead, there were dark clouds in the sky and the radio announced that there would be another storm soon. It was so unusual for Nevada to be the recipient of two thunderstorms in two days. Thankfully, Brass and his men had already erected a tarp over the crime scene in order to preserve evidence. Still, the CSI's needed to work fast in order to beat the rain. As the Tahoe pulled off the road, they all saw it. A red river was making its way across the highway. The crimson had flowed down from the slight incline to the right of the road. It was this red river that had led to the discovery of the body. A young couple who was just passing through had stopped when they saw the long path of blood that stained the road. They had climbed out of there car and followed the blood back to its point of origin. Then they had called the police. The CSI's walked towards where Brass and his men waited. Before they could even get close enough to look at the body, Brass approached them, a grim look on his face.

"We found this in the victim's pocket" was all he said. He handed Grissom as piece of paper that had been folded precisely into quarters. Carefully, he opened it and read the contents aloud.

_The day of reckoning is coming. We will face the rage of angels. The time has come for the fallen to come forth with their power and glory. There is nothing sacred anymore. The blood will spring forth and cleanse the wounds of humanity. Fear not death, for the New Messiah has arrived. The judgment shall be passed and the unworthy will meet their destiny. Fear not death, for the New Messiah has risen from the ashes and is reborn in the blood._

The team was silent as they struggled to absorb the words in the note. It was Grissom who spoke first. He turned to Nick.

"I guess your gut was right Nick. The evil is back". He studied the young man's face trying to gauge his reaction to the news.

Nick knew he should be afraid but instead he felt a sense of security. It was just like his dream. He understood the dream now. He had been looking through the window, not into his past, but into his future. The scene outside the window in his dream was now his waking crime scene. He had that feeling that he had already been at this exact scene before. Not the same place; he had already physically been to this site. But his dream had allowed him to see forward and view part of the crime scene even before he knew it existed. It was sort of spooky but really didn't feel all that different from a form of déjà vu.  He wasn't completely shocked by the discovery. He was even less shocked when he looked around the crime scene and saw foot prints on the ground. They had been made when something had walked through the blood. Warrick came to stand beside him and began snapping pictures of the footprints.

"I'll take these back to the lab and try and find a match for whatever made these prints"

Nick shook his head. 

"That's not necessary. I can tell you right now what made those prints. Those prints were made by a coyote".


	3. Miscommunication

Author's Note: OK, I will be the first to admit it: the last chapter got a little strange and supernatural. This is why I should not be allowed to plunk myself down in front of my computer at 1am to write a story. So, many apologies for the shoddy last chapter, and let's see if I can fix it up in this one. The characters do not belong to me and I am not making any money off them which is a shame because I could really use a new pair of shoes.

*                      *                      *

The rest of the team had watched Nick with interest as he looked around the crime scene. It was chilling to see him so utterly calm. His face reflected no emotion and there was no inflection in his voice when he spoke. They all wanted to know if he was alright being at the crime scene but they were all too afraid to ask. In fact, they had a hard time talking to him lately. They weren't willing to admit it to themselves, but Nick's problems overwhelmed them. The depths of his troubles were frightening and they all avoided talking about it in too much detail. It wasn't that they didn't want to help Nick; it was just that they didn't know how. There was no easy way to help Nick through his issues, so they simply chose to work around them. They each thought that the others would give Nick the support he so desperately needed. But because they all thought someone else would do something, they all ended up doing nothing. They were afraid to talk to Nick about the incident because they were afraid to explore the depth of his problems. They all knew that they were ill-equipped to try and help him work through his issues. None of them had ever been through anything like that, and personally, none of them wanted to. Even hearing him retell his account of what had happened brought them too close to a place that none of them wanted to be. They didn't want to get involved in the emotional issues but they still wanted to help. Instead of trying to flush out the source of the problems, they tried to make life as easy on Nick as possible. When they talked to him, it was always about a case or some trivial events that were occurring in their own lives. They never brought up the attack, and if he brought it up it was just in passing and they were quick to change the subject. Simply put, they were avoiding the issue. They failed to realize this of course. They rationalized their lack of support by thinking that if Nick really wanted their help he would have come to them. They couldn't see that he was trying to talk to them about it. They managed to monopolize the conversation in order to steer it away from the tough stuff. They could have pushed harder to try and find out where the true problems lie, but they just figured that he would come to them when he was ready. He wouldn't talk about it though, so they wouldn't make him. They reasoned that if he was ready to confide in them that they would be ready to listen.  What they didn't see was that Nick thought they were trivializing the issue. He couldn't understand why his team wasn't reaching out to him anymore. He thought that they could see something he couldn't. They didn't seem as concerned as he thought they would be, so he began to believe that he was overreacting. Maybe he was just dwelling on the past when he should be trying to move forward into the future. After all, he reasoned, if the team thought that there was a problem, they would talk to him. They would never just ignore his problems like that. He was deeply confused because he was still reeling from the affects of the attack, not only the physical but the emotional as well, and he was starting to think that the problem was him. He was weak and unable to deal with the aftermath of a case gone bad. He didn't confide to his team because he didn't want them to see this weakness and to think less of him. The lack of communication between the team and Nick had led to a classic misunderstanding. Because they never spoke about what troubled them, each party saw in the other something that wasn't really there. The team saw Nick as someone who would rather deal with the problem by keeping it to himself and Nick saw the team as a group of people who thought that if he spoke about his fears, they would think less of them. All it would have taken was for someone, anyone to speak up. But no one did. Everyone kept quiet and as a result, everyone was hurting. Everyone on the team, Nick included, was trying to suppress emotions that needed to be felt. You can't sweep emotions under the rug and expect them to go away. Pushing the emotions aside is a temporary solution of course, but until you resolve the source of the emotions, they are never truly gone. They are just hiding away somewhere. And eventually, you are going to have to deal with them, whether you like it or not.

            Pushing these troubling thoughts from their minds (which was something they were getting increasingly good at), the team walked over to more closely examine the crime scene. The thunder began to rumble in the distance. The storm was coming back. They needed to get to work. There were two bodies, both male, both approximately in their early to mid-thirties. They were laying about 5 feet away from one another. Both of their throats had been cut. The arterial spray had covered a ten foot radius around the victims. They had both been placed on their backs, arms outstretched with the palms up. The familiarity of the scene caused Sara to shudder. This was eerily reminiscent of the scene that had awaited them some three months earlier. It was the same crude crucifixion scene that Rachel Hubert had left out here in the middle of the desert. The only difference was that this time they were dealing with actual bodies, instead of just bones. There was a much better chance that they would be able to get some physical evidence off these victims. Sara glanced at Nick. He was staring at the bodies, a blank expression on his face. She touched his elbow lightly.

"You okay?"

He drew his arm away from her and nodded curtly. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

His tone surprised her. It was a harsh, angry voice that was so very unlike him. "I just thought……"

His eyes bore into hers. She would have shrunk back if she hadn't known him better. The look in those eyes chilled her to the bone. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger.

"Look, Sara, I know that you are concerned that I am going to fall apart here. But I'm not. I am more than capable of dealing with my emotions at a crime scene. So please stop looking at me like I am going to lose control any second. I hate to disappoint you, but that's never gonna happen. Now how about we get to work and stop worrying about things that have no bearing on the case". His words were biting and they cut through her. He doesn't mean that, she told herself. It's the scene. It's got him shaken up. She gave him a long, piercing look before grabbing her kit and heading over to collect samples of the blood. Nick watched as she walked away.

*Oh God, did I really just say that to her?* His thoughts rolled around in his head as he pulled his gloves on. *She's just trying to help and I turned on her like a rabid dog. I am gonna have to apologize later. God, why does this affect me so much?!* He angrily pushed his frustrations aside and went on with his job.

            The team was quiet as they worked the scene. They didn't have anything to say to one another. Every time Nick looked up, he would catch one of them watching him, and then quickly turning away so he wouldn't notice them. It was getting on his nerves. He wished they would stop looking at him like that. He thought that they thought he was going to fall apart. * They think I'm weak* he told himself. He was determined to prove them wrong. He examined the bodies carefully, resisting the urge to turn and run. It was affecting him; he couldn't deny that. This was way to similar to the Hubert case and he knew all too well how that had turned out. Still, he needed to learn how to get past it, and this was the best way he could think of. This was his chance to do the case right. He wouldn't allow himself to be put in that position again.

"I've got an ID" Warrick's voice broke the silence. "The victim on the left? His name is Rodney Thorpe. He's got an out of state driver's license – according to it, he's from Encino, California."

"Long way from home" Catherine commented.

"So what did he do while he was here that got him killed?" Sara looked at the bodies with morbid curiosity.

"Who says he did anything? Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes they are just innocent bystanders who happen to find themselves dealing with something no one should ever have to deal with. You ever think of that?!" Nick's sudden outburst startled them all. Clearly, he was more affected by the crime scene than he was letting on. Grissom stepped forward.

"Nick……."

Nick cut him off. "No, look, Sara I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it came out. I was just trying to examine other possibilities, that's all. I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that". He managed a small smile, which she returned.  Nick noticed that they were all watching him carefully, so he decided to bring up some findings of his own. Anything to get their minds off of his emotional state.

"I was just thinking…….I mean, these guys died from having their throats cut, right? Well look at the blood. These guys are just soaked in it, and there is a ton of it running down onto the road. It is way too much for two bodies of this size. How can the blood run down like that and make a river? It would take every last drop from both their bodies to even get close to doing that, and we know that is humanly impossible. So I'm thinking, maybe not all of the blood is theirs".

Grissom looked at the scene before him. Nick made a good point. In order for the blood to flow from here down to the highway, it would have to be literally pouring out of the victims. But some of the blood had spattered upon the throat being cut, and a lot of the blood had dripped onto their clothes. So how then could they explain the river of blood that was leading down to the highway?

"Nick, help Sara finish collecting samples of the blood. Then I want the two of you to ride back to the lab with Brass while the rest of us finish up here." Nick nodded. He was torn between wanting to go back to the lab and solving the mystery of the blood, and between staying here and working on the scene. This scene was personal to him. The note, the body placement, it had the marks of Rachel Hubert all over it. Nick didn't yet know how she had managed it, but somehow she was determined to make her message heard. He was equally determined to cease her spread of evil. This was his case. He had had a premonition about it, and now that he was here, he wanted to see it through. This was his chance to extract a little retribution upon the woman who had wreaked havoc on his once simple life.

But first he had to go back to the lab.

*                      *                      *

            The ride back to the lab was uneventful. Brass kept the conversation light, talking about sports, the weather and anything else that had nothing to do with the case. Sara and Nick didn't say it, but they were grateful for the distraction. They needed to get their minds away from the case, even if it was just for a few minutes. They thanked Brass for the ride as they climbed out and headed up to the lab. Nick was quiet. He couldn't explain it but the lab no longer seemed as comfortable as it once had. Lately, every time he stepped through the doors, he wanted to turn and walk right back out. Now, dealing with this new case, he wanted more than anything to just go home and hide out in bed. Wait, scratch that, he thought as he remembered the previous night's dream. He wanted to go home and do anything but sleep.  Sleep was when the dreams came. After the creepy dream from last night, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to go to sleep again.

            But going home wasn't an option at the moment. Right now he needed to get Greg to run tests on the blood from the scene. He told Sara he would meet her in the break room and headed into the lab with the samples. Right away he noticed the look of stress on Greg's face. Uh oh, he thought. It must be a bad day in the lab. Usually Greg was the most upbeat person around.

"Hey Greg. How's it………" he was cut off almost immediately.

"Drop the samples on the counter Nick. I don't want to talk about it". 

"I know how that feels" Nick's reply wasn't intended to be out loud, but the subconscious has a funny way of making people say things that they don't really want to. At these words, Greg turned and looked at his friend. Nick was pale and there were tired lines around his eyes. Greg immediately forgot about his own problems and looked at his friend.

"Are you OK Nick?" 

Nick smiled at the all-too familiar question. "You know, if I started charging people a dollar every time they asked me that, I could retire in a about six months."

"Alright, it was a dumb question." Greg grinned at his friend's response. "You just look kinda- ok, REALLY- stressed out, that's all. I take it this is a tough case?"

"More than you know." Nick hesitated. He didn't really feel like divulging all the gory details right then, but Greg was the only person on the team who had shown any interest in how Nick was really doing lately. He told Nick regularly that he would listen whenever Nick was ready to talk. He never pushed for information, and he was always willing to drop what he was doing and help out a friend. Nick figured that it was reveal information willingly to Greg, or go into the break room and be grilled by Sara about how he felt. He liked Sara, and would confide in her, but sometimes she had all the tact of a raging bull. She was persistent and would plough through problems without looking back. He made an easy decision and turned to Greg.

"The crime scene is in the exact same place that we found the bodies of Cory and Dale Hubert, so needless to say, I didn't really dig that. Two men had their throats slashed. That's what the samples are: blood from the scene; we think there may be more than the blood of the victims. Both men were in their thirties and…."

Greg interrupted. "Nick, come on man, don't beat around the bush. That's not what has you upset. There has to be more to this scene, otherwise you wouldn't be telling me."

He smiled weakly at Greg. "Am I that transparent? Ok, there are a couple of things that really got to me. The first is the dream I had last night." He quickly recounted the dream so that Greg would understand the magnitude of the discovery. "The scene was so similar to what I saw in my dream that it spooked me. I mean, everything was there, right down to the coyote paw prints."

Greg whistled softly. "Wow that is pretty heavy. I didn't know that you had those kinds of visions."

"I don't! I mean, I didn't before. It is just too weird. I don't understand how I could have foreseen what we found. If this keeps up, I am going to start my own infomercial".

Greg laughed. "It's not so strange Nick. It's happened to me before, and I bet it's happened to other people too. The context of the dream may be different, but it is essentially the same thing: sort of a vision into the future. Like, the night before my Grandma died, I had a dream about sitting with her at the hospital. The numbers 431 kept rolling around in my head. The next day I was with her when she died – at 4:31pm".

Nick stared at him. "Really? So you don't think it's weird?"

"Not at all. I wouldn't even worry yourself with it. But you said that a couple of things bothered you today. That's one of them. What's the other?"

This was the hard part. Nick sighed inwardly. It was going to come out sooner or later, and Greg may as well hear it from him.

"The bodies were laid out in the same sort of crucifixion as the Hubert boys were. And there was a note. The person called themselves the 'New Messiah'. There was more to the note, but Grissom has it right now".

Greg was horrified. "Nick…oh my God. How do you feel about that? Do you think that Rachel has something to do with it?"

"I don't see how she can't. Grissom phoned the institution today and was told that she has had no outside contact, but who knows for sure? There can't be any other explanation. There are just too many similarities."

Greg searched his friend's face. Nick was avoiding the important question. "How do you feel about it?" he repeated.

Nick looked at his hands for a long time. How did he feel about it? He had only allowed himself to think about it as a CSI. He had only thought about getting his revenge on Rachel by proving her guilt in this case. But until Greg asked, he hadn't even thought about how this affected him as a victim. He felt….well, he was – 

"Scared" It was a whisper but it carried with it so much emotion that Greg didn't even know what to say or do. "I am really scared Greg. She told me that she was going to rid the world of the dreamers – myself included – and maybe she's not a done as we thought she was. I have been living in fear for the last three months and now I have an even bigger reason to. I used to have so much hope that the good guys would win, but she wiped that out. I feel like everything that I ever believed in is crumbling down around me…I feel like I am losing my mind!" Nick bit his lip to keep from crying. This was so stupid. He wasn't supposed to get emotional like this. But lately, his emotions were out of control and they came and went when they pleased.

Greg grabbed Nick's shoulders and turned Nick towards him. "Listen to me: it is normal to be scared. I would be worried if you weren't. But you have to know that Grissom, and Catherine and everyone, is going to make sure that she, and whoever is doing this,  is not allowed anywhere near you. I wish I could tell you that you are safe, but you know that I can't make that promise. What I can promise is that the team will do everything in their power to protect you and help you. As far as losing your mind – we all feel that way sometimes. And there is nothing that anyone can say or do that will make it any easier. You just have to trust me that it will get better. I am always there for you, you know that right? If you ever need anything, you call me. You are stronger than it Nick. You will be fine, I know it". Greg didn't know if he was getting through to his friend. Nick finally gave him a smile. It was a hollow, empty smile, but it was a start.

            The rest of the team arrived then. Nick and Greg exchanged looks. Greg looked guiltily at the machines and realized he hadn't even started running the tests yet. He had been so wrapped up in helping Nick that it had completely slipped his mind. Grissom hadn't been in the office for thirty seconds before nailing him for it.

"What do you mean, you haven't run those test yet?!" Grissom's voice was amplified by the small lab. 

Nick tried to intervene. "Gris, it was my fault. We were talking and……"

His idea worked. Grissom turned his wrath on Nick. "I expected more from you then this! First you flip out at the crime scene, now you waste time –time that we don't have - by talking to Greg. I don't understand you lately Nicky. Don't you realize how much we need to solve this case?!"

"You're right. You don't understand me. You don't even try to. And I think I know better than anybody here how much this case needs to be solved. My sense of being depends on us solving it. But that's not what's important to you, is it? You just don't want to look bad because we have a repeat crime on our hands. So you do what you have to in order to make yourself look like the hero Gil. I'm outta here!" Nick stormed out of the lab, out of the building and didn't look back. He just needed to get far, far away from everyone right then. After he left, Grissom looked stunned. He glanced around at his team mates. Catherine rubbed his shoulder.

"Don't take it personally. He's just been overworked lately."

"Sure Catherine. Keep telling yourself that" Greg's eyes were flashing dangerously. At that moment he couldn't believe that he was on the team with these people. Were they really that unwilling to look at the root cause of Nick's attitude?  Would they just write off his outburst to working too much?

"Look, just leave. Nick's right: you guys don't even try to understand him lately. And right now, it makes me sick to be around you. Let me run my tests – because that is of paramount importance apparently – and then leave me alone. I am going to find Nick and talk to him, because that is what he needs. You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I would have expected this kind of insensitive attitude from Ecklie – but never from any of you". With that, Greg turned his back on his team.

Much like the team had turned its back on Nick.

*                      *                      *

Parts Unknown

The evil had been waiting for this moment. The good had broken off from the rest. It was isolated. It was vulnerable. Now was the time for the evil to leap into action.

The worlds of good and evil were about to collide.


	4. Words

Author's Note: Now, see there y'all go, thinking that something bad is coming. Just because I end the previous chapter on an ominous note, you think that Nick is going to get hurt, or that some catastrophic event is going to occur. And you know what? You may be right. But if you are, I'm not going to tell you. You will have to read on and find out for yourself. And as you read on, remember: the characters are not mine, and no money is being made off of them. I think this is just a crying shame. Ah, well, that's life.

*                      *                      *

_But all my words got in the way_

_And all the things I meant to say_

_ Were not the things you heard_

_Why'd you have to go_

_And take me at my word_

("Words" by Sherrie Austin)

*                      *                      *

The team was in shock. Had the whole world gone mad? First Nick exploded at Grissom, and then Greg took his turn yelling at them. They were so stunned by the sudden explosion of words that had sprung forth from the lab tech that they had walked out of the lab without even reprimanding Greg. They had been stunned into silence. Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed his fingers over the bridge of him nose. This was not right. He was supposed to be the leader of the team. They were supposed to respect him and follow his lead. But somehow, in the span of five minutes, he had lost the respect of two of the members of his team. He couldn't wrap his head around it. To say it was uncharacteristic of Nick and Greg to act this way would be the understatement of the year. Sure, they could lose their tempers from time to time, but everyone does. However, neither of them had ever dared to speak to Grissom in that tone of voice before. He was even more surprised at himself for not saying something. He could have followed Nick out or he could have talked to Greg but he did neither. He simply slunk out of the lab like a puppy that has just been whacked with a newspaper. He knew why. He hated to admit it, but there was a grain of truth in what Nick had said. Grissom hadn't really tried to understand Nick lately. He had just figured that Catherine, or Warrick, or Greg would talk to Nick. Grissom was a hell of a scientist, but sometimes he was lacking in the human emotions department. Usually the team tolerated his lack of outward emotion, but now it seemed to be hurting Nick. Grissom was upset at himself for not recognizing that the young man was having problems. For an investigator he sure could be dense sometimes, particularly when it concerned the way the minds of his co-workers operated. The evidence had been staring him in the face and Grissom had still been unable to recognize that Nick was in trouble. Well he certainly knew now. Everyone on the team knew exactly how Nick felt. He had made it abundantly clear. And Greg's outburst, well that had hurt even more than Nick's. The comparison to Ecklie had ruffled Grissom's feathers initially, but now as he walked towards his office, Greg's comparison didn't seem so far-fetched. Ecklie was not known for his compassion, and lately, Grissom wasn't either. He hated to admit it to himself but he had treated Nick with all the compassion that one would treat a piece of dirt on their shoe. He had brushed the young man aside and now he knew that he was going to have to do some serious damage control if he wanted to regain Nick and Greg's respect.

            But that would have to wait. Much as he wanted to try and smooth things over, he had a case to work on. Talking to his team mates was going to have to wait until after the shift. He wasn't going to say anything until then. He resolved himself not to say anything when Greg took off to find Nick. He needed to let the situation air itself out until he had time to sit down and deal with it properly. In the meantime, he occupied himself with the note. He gingerly pulled it from the evidence bag and smoothed it out on his desk. 

_The day of reckoning is coming. We will face the rage of angels. The time has come for the fallen to come forth with their power and glory. There is nothing sacred anymore. The blood will spring forth and cleanse the wounds of humanity. Fear not death, for the New Messiah has arrived. The judgment shall be passed and the unworthy will meet their destiny. Fear not death, for the New Messiah has risen from the ashes and is reborn in the blood._

They had already checked it for fingerprints; there were none. Whoever had written it had worn gloves. They were analyzing the ink for the pen, but it was unlikely that it would wield any clues. The writer had taken the time to put gloves on; it was unlikely that they would use any type of specialty ink that could be traced back to them. It was probably just a cheap Bic pen that you can buy at any store in the state. Grissom read and re-read the note over and over again. He was looking for some sort of clue in the bizarre ramblings of the note. The only things that jumped out at him were the words "…reborn in the blood" and "new messiah". The blood was self explanatory; they had found the victims bathed in blood. The "new messiah" was also chillingly familiar. Grissom remembered too well the first time he had seen those words. They had been encircling the bones of the two children. He knew that Rachel had called herself the "New Messiah". Nick had told him in the hospital. He knew about Rachel's plan, but it was all through second-hand information. He needed to talk to Nick. He was the only one who had any real insight into how this woman operated. But he had caused Nick to leave, right when he needed him the most. He sighed. This case was going to be hard on all of them but especially Nick. He needed to talk to the young man. If he didn't, then they may never solve the case. He was mentally kicking himself for the way he had been treating Nick when Greg interrupted his thoughts.

"The results are back on those tests you wanted me to run" His voice was far more calm now, but there was none of his usual theatrics when presenting information. He was still angry. Grissom didn't blame him.

"And?"

"Well the pen that wrote the note was a Bic. It could have been bought anywhere. The handwriting is being analyzed as we speak; Catherine is in with the specialist. As for the blood, well there was the blood of the two victims – and a third party".

Grissom perked up. "Did you run it through the database?"

"That's the thing. It's not human. It's sheep's blood."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Whoever did this poured sheep's blood all over the crime scene. That's why there was so much of it present. Whoever did this had it planned out because you don't just carry sheep's blood around in the back of your car." Greg looked at his boss. Grissom looked far older then Greg remembered. The case was definitely affecting all of them. He continued.

"Look, if there's nothing else, I'm going to take off. I want to go and find Nick." His smile was grim and unfriendly.

Grissom nodded without argument. "You do that. And Greg?" The lab tech turned and looked back. "When you find him, tell him that I want to talk to him. Not as his boss – as his friend".

Greg gave Grissom another smile, this one far more genuine than the first. He was still smiling as he headed to his car. Grissom was willing to talk. Wow, that should be the lead story on the evening news. But now Greg had to find Nick. He sat for a moment, trying to figure out where Nick would go to clear his head. He remembered a recent conversation that they had had a few days ago. Nick had told him that he had found a new way to channel his frustrations and his anger. It was worth a shot.

*                      *                      *

BANG! BANG ! BANG!

The sound of gunfire roared through the small area. The bullets found their intended target, each striking a blow more deadly than the last. The shooter smiled with smug satisfaction as his victim fell. A sudden tap on his shoulder caused him to whirl around, his gun still in his hand.

"Whoa! Don't point that thing at me!" Greg's voice was muted by the noise of the firing range. Nick could barely make out the words from under the heavy ear protection they were required to wear. He had taken to going to the firing range lately and blowing off some steam there. Normally he didn't care for guns, but it just seemed so easy to release his anger onto the unmoving paper target. With each bullet he fired, he felt a bit of the stress leave him. It was only temporary and it always left him wanting to fire more. It was just another defense mechanism, working to keep his mind from dealing with the problems. Now he was looking into the eyes of his best friend and realized that there may be more productive ways of working through issues. He walked out of the fire range with Greg on his heels. 

"You trying to just shoot your troubles away?" the question was only half-teasing.

"Something like that. Although I am starting to think that I just shot myself in the foot – pun intended" His tried to make light of his new hobby, but his voice seemed so unnatural. It sounded like someone who was on the verge of breaking down.

"You mean what you said to Grissom? Don't worry about it. It's about time we stood up to him"

"Excuse me? What 'we'? The last time I checked, I was the only one who insulted their boss and stormed off like a little kid."

Greg grinned sheepishly. He'd forgotten that Nick had missed his moment of glory. "Oh, well, you left before you heard me get my shots in. I told Grissom to cut you some slack – and I told him that I would expect the attitude from Ecklie, but not from him".

"You didn't!"

"I did. I thought he was going to flip out, but instead he just went into his office. I think he feels really bad Nick. He said that he wants to talk to you – as a friend, not a boss".

Nick was surprised. That sounded so unlike Grissom. But then again, no one had been sounding like themselves lately. He had taken to sounding defensive all the time, Greg was getting all deep and philosophical and now Grissom was willing to open up and talk about something. Strange days these were. He looked at Greg and shook his head.

"I acted like a jerk. I can't talk to him, even if it is as a friend."

"Well would you talk to me? If my being a friend bothers you however, I could act like a therapist and give you a diagnosis. Or maybe you would open up to a guru and I could impart my sage words of wisdom upon you. Say, how about you talk to me like I am a soothsayer – you know, 'Beware the Ides of March' and what not".

Nick had to laugh at his friend's theatrics. "First off, I had enough shrinks at the hospital to last me a lifetime. Second, you are hardly old enough to be a guru. And third, it's the middle of April – not March. But –" here his tone grew serious "I do need to talk to someone".

Greg grinned. "Ok, so how about we grab coffee and just drive around for a bit? It's a great way to help relax and you won't need to worry about anyone listening in on your conversation."

"Sounds good. Lead the way"

They drove to a nearby coffee shop and upon getting their coffees, began to drive aimlessly. Nick watched the scenery fly by for a while, trying to formulate his thoughts. Gradually the scenery changed from the bright lights of the Strip to the occasional glow of a street light to the absolute darkness as they drove into the desert. 

"Do you know where you're going?" The question seemed to surprise Greg.

"Well….no. But I have been driving in a straight line, so I figure I will just turn around eventually and I will find my way back."

Nick snorted. This was more typical Greg behavior. "You always struck me as a free spirit".

"I am. But I thought we came out here to talk about you." Greg pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. "Look Nick we've been driving for nearly an hour and you still haven't talked to me. I can't help you if you don't let me".

Nick sighed. It was now or never. "I just don't know what I am doing anymore. It's been three months and it feels like it was yesterday. I can't seem to shake it Greg. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see her there. I am afraid to close my eyes because I always see her standing in front of me. I can't even find peace in my dreams anymore. It's like she's taken over my life! I want to make her leave but I don't know how. And then work – oh God, sometimes I just dread going into work. I can't bring myself to deal with these cases anymore. I know the evil that's out there; I stared into its eyes. And I don't want to go there anymore. I am tired of being surrounded by death and evil every day."

"Are you thinking of quitting?"

Nick shrugged. "I have asked myself that question every single day. I love my job and I know that there are people who benefit from me doing this, but I just can't stand being there anymore."

Greg thought for a moment, and posed an interesting question. "Is that because the job is getting to you, or are you feeling frustrated by the team? Let's face it; they have not exactly been the most helpful bunch of people lately"

Greg had hit a nerve. Nick didn't want to think like that, but Greg had a point. The lack of support he was getting from his team was bothering him.

"I guess that's part of it. I know that they care, but sometimes it would be nice for them to ask me more than 'Are you ok Nick?' They seem to be doing it out of obligation, not out of compassion."

"Did you ever think that they don't show much support because you don't let on that things are bothering you? You expect them to be mind readers Nick. That's not fair."

"Hey! I thought you were on my side!" Nick looked hurt. Greg remained unfazed.

"Hey, you need to give a little to get a little. You need to tell them that you're having problems. Then it's up to them to do their part and show you a little more support. But I don't think that you can blame it all on them. The only reason you ever open up to me is because I pry more than the others do. Well, Nick, they probably don't know how much they need to push before you are willing to talk to them."

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment. Nick had to admit that Greg was right. He had been blaming his team mates for not helping him, but he had never gone to them and told them that he needed it. He was a very private person and they had no idea how bad things were getting for him. He needed to open up and let them in if they wanted to help him work through his troubles.

"When did you get so smart?" He looked at his friend and smiled.

Greg laughed. "Well you know I was top of my class…"

"I mean, how did you get so life smart? You always manage to put things in perspective for me. And you always tell me the truth, even when I don't want to hear it. Thank you"

"You're welcome. Now, is there anything else that we need to talk about, or can we get out of here? It is really kinda creepy out here."

Nick agreed. "Yeah, let's head back. I still need to talk, but I think it's about time I opened up to some other people. I should get back and talk to Grissom. I owe it to him to explain how I have been feeling lately".

"Well I think that would be good for both of you. But always remember that if you ever feel like there is no one else you can turn to, you can always turn to me."

"Thanks. You have, and always will be, my therapist, my guru and my soothsayer. Now let's get out of here!"

Greg made a three point turn and began to drive back towards the neon warmth of the city. They hadn't been driving ten minutes when a very strange sight caught Nick's eye.

"Greg? Was that light there when we came in?"

Greg slowed the car and looked in the direction Nick was pointing. There, to his left, a building was illuminated by a soft white light. Greg was sure that he hadn't seen it on the way in, and told Nick so.

"Who on earth would come out here so late? Why open up a building now?"

Greg didn't have an answer. He stopped the car when they were directly parallel with building. From this distance it was hard to tell what it was. It was a small, white building that was lit by a single light over the door. Inside, the yellow glow radiated through the windows. It was so out of place, yet it felt very natural at the same time. Greg seemed to read Nick's mind as he verbalized his thoughts.

"Wanna go check it out?"

Now if this were a horror movie, the audience would be screaming at them to get back in the car. You never, ever go check out a building in the middle of no where. That is when the crazed killer attacks his unsuspecting prey. There is no one around to help you and no one around to hear you scream. It is suicide. But evidently Nick and Greg hadn't been watching the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" recently and they went exploring. They drove the car closer to the building and parked about a hundred yards away. Greg always kept a couple of flashlights in the trunk and together they began to look around. As the light swept the desolate landscape, they realized something. They knew where they were. Well, not literally, because they were in the middle of nowhere. But they recognized the building for what it was.

They were standing in front of a church. It was a tiny church and what it was doing out here, well, God only knows (no pun intended). But here it was. A slightly crooked cross was perched precariously atop the steeple. The white paint was chipping off the walls and the trim was a dirty green. There was a small garden on either side of the rickety stairs. The flowers and greenery were all dead or decaying. As Nick shone his light, he could make out a small fenced in area on the right side of the building. As he looked closer, he realized it was a small graveyard. His curiosity got the better of him and he went closer. The gate was covered in ivy that had long since lost its life. It swung open with a creak at the slightest touch of his hands. He walked carefully between the rows, not wanting to tread on the graves. Many of the names were worn off and the tombstones were crumbling. There was an overwhelming sense of sadness here. He looked at some dates and saw that some of these graves dated back over thirty years. It looked as if no one had tended to these burial plots in many months. The weeds were snaking their way around the tombstones and any flowers that had been placed had withered and died. It was a place where the dead were laid to rest and their souls were set free. Nick suspected that this tiny burial ground had not seen visitors in quite some time. He quietly slipped back out of the graveyard, making sure to secure the gate behind him. He turned and went back to where he had left Greg. There was just one problem.

Greg wasn't there anymore.

"Greg?" Nick yelled. No answer. He tried again. "GREG?!" Still, no answer.

Nick quickly walked around the small church but there was no sign of his friend anywhere. He looked at the front door. It was ever-so slightly ajar. He drew his gun and cautiously pushed the door open. 

He was in the vestibule. There was nothing there except a dusty card table with an empty wicker basket perched on top, and a brass font that had once held Holy water. In front of him were scarred wooden doors that led into the church. Nick pulled the doors open, and nearly dropped his gun from shock.

The inside of the church was lit almost entirely by candles. They cast their eerie shadows on the walls as Nick looked around. There was a single centre aisle, lined on either side by ten rows of pews. The pews were covered in several layers of thick, heavy dust. At the tabernacle was an old, decrepit cross the displayed the crucifixion of Christ. Dried, brown palm leaves grew from large pots on either side of the well worn alter. It was none of this that stunned Nick.

It was the fact that Greg was laying face down in front of the alter, a pool of blood spreading out from beneath him.


	5. What's Past is Present

Author's Note: Hee hee hee. I love toying with you guys like this! Ahhh, the joy of cliffhangers.  I appreciate all the reviews that you guys give me. You are all so nice! And I have to give a BIG shout out to CSIaddict who always reviews my stories AND mentions me in their author notes (see; now you know how to get on my good side!). Again, I thank all of you; you rock! Please keep the reviews coming and I hope you enjoy the story. Characters belong to the rich people at CBS – they are the ones making money off them, not me.

*                      *                      *

Nick stared in horror at the prone figure of his friend. This was not happening. This couldn't be happening, he told himself. He began to run down the aisle towards the spot where Greg lay. His legs felt like lead as he tried to move. It seemed to take hours, but in reality was only a few seconds. Oh God, there was so much blood. Nick was afraid to turn Greg over. He was afraid of what he might see. How badly was the kid hurt? What the hell had happened? Who had done this? The questions were racing through Nick's head so fast that he almost missed it when Greg stirred. He touched Greg's shoulder and was rewarded with a low moan.

"Oh thank you God. Greg? Greg? Are you ok? Answer me!" Nick's voice was frantic.

It took Greg a minute to realize who was talking. What had just happened? As he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a sea of red. The blood covered the floor, his clothes and his skin. Ugh, the stench was overwhelming. It smelled like the blood had been sitting around fermenting for the last few hours. He made a mental note not to breathe to deeply. He tried to focus his mind and remember how he had ended up on the floor. Oh, that's right. He had come in here while Nick was looking around in the cemetery. He had called to his friend, but Nick must not have heard him. Greg had gone inside to see if there was anyone there. That was starting to seem like a not-so bright move. He had heard a rustling noise coming from the front of the alter and had gone forward to investigate. He had found a large bucket filled with blood on the floor in front of the alter. He remembered thinking how odd it was to find something like that here of all places. He was crouching down to look at it more closely when a noise had spooked him from behind. He had whirled around too quickly and lost his balance. His hands had found the bucket and he had accidentally brought it down with him when he fell. The last thing he saw was the corner of the pew coming up to meet his forehead. He must have blacked out for a couple of minutes. Now Nick was here, and judging by the tone of his voice, he was panic-stricken. Greg shook his head slightly to clear the cobwebs from his brain and managed to find his voice.

"Nick – I'm Ok."

"Are you sure? You're bleeding……"

Greg pulled himself up off the floor and closed his eyes momentarily as the room began to spin. He must have hit his head harder then he thought.   
  


"It's not me. The blood – it came from a bucket that was sitting here. I fell and whacked my head. But I am fine, I swear".

Nick helped his friend move away from the blood. "Are you sure? Let me see your head" Sure enough, there was the beginnings of a nasty bruise forming just above Greg's left eyebrow. It didn't look too serious but it was enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. Nick tried to slow his rapid heartbeat. He had been so scared for a minute. Seeing Greg laying there in a pool of blood had really shaken him. Was that how it had been for Warrick when he had discovered Nick's body that horrible day in Rachel's kitchen. Because if was, then man, Warrick probably needed to talk to someone as much as Nick did. He made a mental note to talk to his friend when they got back to the lab. But now was not the time to start thinking about that. He needed to make sure that Greg was truly alright. 

"Think you can stand up?" He grabbed Greg under the elbow as the young man nodded and shakily began to pull himself to his feet. He leaned heavily on Nick as he tried to fight off another wave of dizziness.

"I'm fine. Nick – before you came in, I heard a noise. That's what startled me and caused me to fall. Maybe we should go and find it…."

"No! Absolutely not! Our first mistake was coming in here and we are not going to make another mistake by hanging around here. We are getting out of this place. We will call Brass from the car and have him send a couple of uniforms over. But we are not going to go and try and find the nutcase who is keeping buckets of blood in a church in the middle of nowhere. Now let's go!" He left no room for argument as he propelled his friend towards the door. They had just pulled the doors open when – 

"AHHHH!" Three voices chimed in as they all cried out in shock. Nick and Greg found themselves face to face with a priest who looked equally shocked to find two men in a church that he thought was abandoned. The priest was in his early forties and had thinning black hair that he kept neatly groomed. He was dressed all in black, except for the white of his clerical collar. His skin was pale and looked like he hadn't seen the sun in quite some time. His eyes were a dull muddy brown and his mouth was very thin. Right now his face wore a look of surprise upon finding that he had guests.

"What is going on here? What have you done?!" The priest was staring at the two intruders in horror.

Nick realized that this must look bad. He had a gun in one hand. The other had a vise-like grip on Greg's arm. Greg was completely covered in blood. He quickly holstered his gun and tried to explain.

"This isn't what it looks like. You see, my friend and I were just looking around when he fell and knocked over a bucket of blood that was in the church. I am just taking him to the hospital."

The priest crossed his arms. "And the gun?"

"I work for the Las Vegas Police Department. I'm a Crime Scene Investigator".

The priest eyed them suspiciously. They certainly didn't look like dangerous criminals. But how could anyone be sure anymore?

"Really? Well this is not a crime scene, so maybe you'd like to explain why you are breaking into my church."

It was Greg who responded now. "We are not breaking in!"  He said indignantly. "We were driving and saw the lights and decided to see what was going on out here. We have done nothing wrong. But as far as this not being a crime scene, well maybe you should rethink that!"

Nick turned to his friend. Now he was the one who was confused. "Greg, what are you –"

"The blood that I found in the church – the stuff that I am wearing right now? I think it is the same type of blood that we found at a crime scene earlier today. Someone doused the bodies in sheep's blood – I meant to tell you earlier –but I think that this gives me adequate reason to believe that the blood that I tipped over is consistent with the blood we found on our victims."

Nick looked at the priest. The man looked stunned. But more than that, there was a look of fear in his eyes. He knows something, Nick thought. He watched the man carefully.

"Care to explain that Father?"

The priest let out a sigh. They weren't going to leave until they got some answers out of him. He motioned for them to follow him. The went back into the church. He led them up behind the alter. There, behind the large crucifix were two more buckets of blood. The man looked very weary. He sat down on the floor. Nick and Greg followed suit.

"My name is Father Manilla. I am the priest at Holy Order of the Cross. It is just outside Reno."

"Then what on earth are you doing out here?" Greg interrupted. Nick nudged him roughly in the ribs and shot him a look.

"It is a sad story about how I ended up here. This church has many ghosts in its past. I suppose I may as well share them with you, as I am certain you would investigate it anyways. You see, this church was built a little over thirty years ago. It was the first building that was erected in what was supposed to be a small town. However, after building the church, it was discovered that this area in which the homes were to go was actually an ancient Indian burial ground. The state of Nevada forbid the further construction of a town. They won't permit the disruption of burial sites. No one wanted to tear down a place of worship, so they left the church standing and built the town over that ridge there" Nick and Greg followed his gaze out the window. In the distance they could make out the ridge of which he spoke. He continued with his story as his audience sat in rapt silence.

"Over the years the town folk used to come out here and use this cemetery to bury the dead. Why they didn't bury the bodies in their town, well I don't know. There are old legends of course that their town was haunted by those that were buried there. It is not a happy town, and many believe that laying bodies to rest there will lead to more ghostly activity. It is all nonsense of course. There is no proof that any of those hauntings ever occurred. I think it is just the townspeople trying to justify their decision to bury the bodies out here. But whatever the reason, this church was only ever used for funerals. There as been no life in this church – only death. The sadness here is sometimes unbearable. Some people used to come to the graves, but they have either died themselves or are too old to make the trek out here. No one has been here in years. Sometimes people would come and leave flowers, but usually this church remains abandoned. My father was the priest here for all those years until he died. I never presided over any of the funerals obviously, but I come out here from time to time to make sure that everything is ok. In fact, I wasn't even supposed to be out here tonight. But something happened that changed all of that."

Nick and Greg looked at him. He returned their gaze for a moment before turning and looking at the buckets of blood that sat on the floor. He ran a hand over his hair and let out a sigh.

"One of my parishioners came to me late last night asking for a favor. He knew about this church and he knew I was the only person who had a key. He asked me if he could borrow the keys for a while. He explained that he needed to store some things out here, somewhere where they would not be discovered. If I had had any idea about what he was up to I would have never given him the keys. I was suspicious but he assured me that it was nothing illegal and that no one would get hurt. He swore that all he was doing was leaving some things here because he was afraid that they might get stolen. Like a fool I believed him"

"What happened to change your mind?" Nick's voice was gentle. They were gaining valuable information and he didn't want to scare the priest off by being too pushy.

"Well I walked him to his truck. I noticed that it was covered in dust, which struck me as odd because he doesn't live near the desert. There was mud on the tires and splashes of red in the bed of the truck. It looked like blood. I thought that was odd, but he seemed like such a good man that I didn't think I had reason to believe that he had done anything wrong. I asked him about it, and he said that been transporting some carcasses for a friend. I assumed he meant animals. But then I saw the news tonight and they were talking about the murders. They said that they had found two bodies, doused in blood, in the desert. It finally clicked in my head that everything fit. The dirt on his truck, the blood in the back, needing to hide something in the middle of nowhere; it all made sense. So I decided to come out here and see what he was leaving behind. I was actually afraid that I might find more bodies, but thankfully, I was wrong. I came here to find the door unlocked but I didn't see him anywhere. I came in and found three buckets of blood up here behind the crucifix. As you can probably tell by the smell, they have been sitting out here for some time. I moved one of them and was going to bring it with me to take to the police, but I heard a noise and I panicked. I thought he might be coming back, so I put the bucket down and slipped out the back door." He pointed to a wooden door at the rear of the alter. "I hid around back until I didn't see anyone anymore and then I came back through the front door. That's when I heard a crash, and I found myself hiding for a second time. There is a hallway in the vestibule that is practically invisible because of how it is situated in the room. I hid down there until the footsteps passed. I went back out a minute later and that is when I met you two." He looked tired. Nick knew that he probably wanted to get out of there as much as he and Greg did, but he had a couple of questions first.

"What is the name of the man who asked you for the keys?" The priest hesitated. He hated to think that any of his church's members could be involved in something like this. Nick saw his hesitation and his voice softened.

"Father, I know that you want to protect this man. But if you don't tell us, he could go out and hurt more people. I know you don't want that either. So please, give us the name and we will do the rest".

Father Manilla relented. "His name is Raymond Jacobs. Everyone calls him Ray". Nick smiled gratefully.

Greg interjected now. "Wait, if you drove out here, why didn't we see your car?"

"Easy. I parked it out back about a hundred yards away. I didn't want Ray to see me if he was here, so I parked and walked up. My car is far enough away that you wouldn't be able to see it with a flashlight until you were fairly close to it." Well, that would make sense, thought Greg. He didn't blame Father Manilla for not wanting to be seen by someone who was now a prime suspect in a murder investigation. A sudden thought hit Greg so fast that he physically lurched in his seat.

"Father?" his voice was breathless and his eyes were glassy. He looked very afraid all of a sudden. "You said you heard a crash and you hid. You were gone from the alter before I came in, correct? I mean, you didn't see me?"

The priest nodded. Greg took a deep breath and continued, all the while looking at Nick. "I heard a noise _behind** me, which caused me to fall. Father Manilla was already back in the vestibule, because the crash he heard was me when I fell. Which means……."**_

Nick finished the sentence. "We're not alone."

The three men jumped to their feet and looked around. The church was as empty as it ever was but every hair on Nick's head was standing up. He drew his gun again.

"If Father Manilla could hide his car, then surely Ray Jacobs could as well. It is pitch black out there; we would never have even seen it."

"I think I would like to get out of here now" Greg's voice was shaky and a knot of fear was forming in his stomach. Nick agreed and carefully led the way out of the church. They didn't speak another word until they were safely locked in the car and back out on the highway, racing towards Las Vegas. Nick drove with Greg in the passenger seat, fighting to stay awake, and Father Manilla in the back, looking around nervously. What had he gotten himself into? Nick assured him that he would be safe, but that he would have to come with them to the crime lab to give his statement. After they dropped Father Manilla off, Nick intended to get Greg to a hospital to get his head wound checked out. As they drove, a sudden query popped into Nick's head.

"Father? What was the name of the town on the other side of the ridge? The one that was supposed to be where the church was?"

The priest responded immediately. "Pandarus Point."

Oh no. Oh God no. This was not right. Nick's mind was screaming at him as he struggled to maintain his composure in order to get them back into town safely. The lights were getting brighter but Nick didn't feel any safer. It was just too big a coincidence. Rachel had lived in Pandarus Point. The evidence that was tied to the crime that was similar to hers was found in a church that serviced Pandarus Point. It seemed clear that Ray Jacobs was the link they had been looking for. He was the person whom Rachel had passed her evil plans on to. Nick pressed harder on the gas as he sped towards the CSI lab. He needed to get Father Manilla there to give a statement to Brass and Grissom. Then maybe they could track down Jacobs and finally lay the evil to rest. They were almost there when Greg suddenly lost his battle with consciousness. He slumped over, held up only by his seatbelt.

"Greg!" Nick glanced at him, but couldn't do anything. He had to keep his eyes on the road. Father Manilla leaned forward and checked Greg's pulse.

"This boy needs a hospital – NOW!"

It looked like the crime lab was going to have to wait.


	6. Out in the Open

Author's Note: This will hopefully be the last chapter with so much dialogue in it. In other words, I am hoping Nick will get to the root of his issues and move on! Or at least start to. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter – what a way to ring in the New Year! And I have to give special thanks to Franny, whose comments are so nice, and they always crack me up. So thank you! The lyrics that appear later are from the song "Scream" by  Mindy McCready. Unless you have been living under a rock, you know that I don't own the characters, nor do I make any profit from this.

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            The Emergency Room was the usual hubbub of activity as people rushed around trying to do eight different things at once. The atmosphere was one of controlled chaos. The doctors and nurses all know exactly where they are supposed to be at any given time, but to the untrained eye it looks like they are wandering around aimlessly, lost in a sea of humanity. In the waiting room, the loved ones were herded together to await news of the ones who had been injured. Nick was reminded of the cattle ranches back in Texas. Just like the cattle were rounded up and guided into the pen, so too were the families rounded up and directed into the waiting room. Nick couldn't sit still as he waited for news on Greg's condition. He wandered over to the vending machines and got some sort of brown sludge that they were trying to pass for coffee. He drank it without even tasting it. Somehow, in the last few minutes, three months worth of exhaustion had caught up with him. This day seemed interminably long. Had it really been only twelve hours since the nightmare had started? It seemed like ages ago that he had walked out of CSI headquarters. That thought reminded him that he needed to call the rest of the team. He put a quarter in the pay phone and punched the familiar numbers. When Grissom answered Nick gave no details of what had happened; he only said that Greg had sustained a head injury and was in the hospital. Grissom, to his credit, didn't pry for answers over the phone. He simply told Nick to wait there and that he would be there as soon as he could. Nick hung up with Grissom, inserted another coin and then dialed Brass' number. He got Brass' voice mail, so he left a brief message explaining what had happened, and asked for Brass to meet him in the ER. Nick was surprised that he was able to function at all. He was drained, both physically and emotionally. He felt like he was running on a carousel: he never seemed to move forward anymore. He was stuck going around and around without ever finding any sense of comfort. He had had the presence of mind to ask the ER nurses to preserve the clothes Greg had been wearing; they were now evidence. They would need to be tested to confirm Greg's suspicions. Between the blood and Father Manilla's testimony, they should have enough evidence to issue a warrant for Ray Jacobs's arrest. It was only then that Nick noticed that Father Manilla was nowhere to be seen. He had excused himself to make a phone call once Greg had been whisked away into the jungle of the ER, but Nick hadn't seen the priest since. He walked around the hallways, not wanting to stray too far from the waiting room in case the doctor came back. He asked if the nurses had seen him, but no one remembered seeing the priest leave. Nick didn't have time to think about what to do because the doctor chose that moment to come and find him.

"Nick Stokes? I'm Doctor Douglas." The older woman extended her hand and Nick shook it briefly.

"Is he OK? How bad is it?"

The doctor laid a reassuring hand on his arm and smiled. Oh, that was a good sign, Nick thought. "Your friend is just fine. He sustained a mild concussion, but the wound is not deep and there should be no further problems. Other than that, he is in very good health".

Nick let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Oh thank God. What about his losing consciousness? The man who was with us checked his pulse and said that Greg needed a hospital immediately".

Dr. Douglas consulted her chart and shook her head. "The tests returned normal. The loss of consciousness is a result of the concussion. Your friend's pulse was normal when we checked it. I suspect that the man you were with simply panicked and overreacted. It is still a good thing that Greg came here."  
  


"Can I see him?" Nick knew he sounded anxious but he couldn't help it.

"Of course. I am going to send him upstairs and keep him overnight for observation, but I don't see any reason why he can't go home in the morning. He'll be on the third floor. You can go up shortly."

Nick shook her hand again as she disappeared back into the wilds of the sick and injured. He was relieved to hear that Greg was going to be alright. Now if only he could find Father Manilla….

"Nick!" A familiar voice pierced his thoughts. He looked up to see Grissom rushing towards him. Sara was right behind him.

"How's Greg?" Grissom looked worried. Nick had been so cryptic on the phone that Grissom had expected the worst. He had wanted to bring the whole team with him, but Catherine was following up on a lead regarding the handwriting on the note, and Warrick was still trying to get an ID on the second body. They had promised Grissom that they would come as soon as they could.

"I'm just on my way up to see him" Nick replied. "The doc thinks that it is best to keep him overnight, but he's fine."

Together the three of them made their way towards the elevators that would take them up to see Greg.

"Nick, what the hell happened?" Sara's voice was low and concerned. It wasn't like Nick to be so tight-lipped about something like this.

Nick relayed the story to them on their way up the elevator and as they made their way to the wing where Greg would spend the night. He told them about Father Manilla, the history of the church, the blood and what the priest had said. He finished by recounting the details of how the church had served Pandarus Point. He looked tired. Sara and Grissom let him tell his story without interruptions. When he finished, Grissom merely asked:   
  


"Have you told Brass?" 

That was it. No "How are you handling this?", no "Oh my God. I am so glad you two are ok.", not even a "Don't worry. We'll get him". There was none of that. Nick felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He thought Grissom wanted to talk to him as a friend. Well, it seemed now that Grissom was more concerned with acting like his boss. Nick shook his head in disgust and walked away.

Grissom looked at Sara, stunned. This was the second time in a day that Nick had walked off on him. "What's the problem now?"

Sara stared at him. He didn't have a clue. "Grissom, would it have killed you to ask Nick how he was doing? I know the case is important and that this is big news, but think about how it must be affecting Nick. No wonder he thinks you don't understand him." Her voice was kind as she spoke. 

"It's just that….I don't know what to say to him Sara. I can't make things better by talking to him about it."

"I know you can't. No one can. But it's what he needs right now, so you have got to make a little effort. Otherwise, we may lose him"

Grissom looked surprised. "Do you think he'd quit?"

"Would you blame him?" With that, Sara quietly turned and went off in the direction Nick had gone. She walked away not to hurt him, but to give him time to think. Her words struck a chord within him. He realized he wouldn't blame Nick at all if he quit. Grissom was finally able to step outside of himself and see that he had been neglecting his team mate. He was always quick to discuss a case with Nick, but he never took the time to discuss how Nick was doing. He went to the door of Greg's room. 

Greg was propped up in bed. His face was pale, and the ugly purple bruise stood out in stark contrast to his white skin. There were still traces of blood on his skin and in his hair, but all in all he looked pretty good. He was talking to Nick and Sara, presumably about the case. Grissom hung back, afraid to intrude. He felt very old and out of place all of a sudden. Greg looked up and saw him there. He grinned.

"Hey Grissom, come and join the party. How come you won't come into my hospital room without an invite, but you have no problem bursting through the door of my lab?"

Grissom laughed. "I felt like the old guy who doesn't quite belong." Brass appeared in the doorway, which caused Grissom to add: "Well at least now there are two of us here. I don't feel so old now that Jim is here".

"Funny. I'll remember that the next time you need something. Listen, Nick, I know it's late, but I'd like to get your statement from you now. I can get Greg's in the morning."

Nick looked worried. "There's one small problem. The priest I told you about? The one with all the information? I kinda lost him".

"What?!" Everyone in the room looked at Nick. He blushed slightly at the sudden attention. 

"He went to make a phone call while Greg was in the ER but I haven't seen him since. I asked around but no one's seen him".

Brass swore. They needed the priest's statement if they wanted a warrant. "That's alright. I'll get my men to search the hospital. I've already got a team heading out to the church. Come with me; this will only take a few minutes." Nick was reluctant to leave Greg's side but knew that there was no choice. He promised to be right back and followed Brass out the door. Once he left, Grissom took over the vacant seat. He sat down and looked at Greg's face closely, as if to reassure himself that the young man was truly fine. Greg looked back at him, a sad sort of expression on his face.

"You need to talk to him." was all he said.

Grissom abruptly looked away. He was tired of everyone telling him that he needed to talk to Nick. He knew that. He also knew that he was putting it off. He had no idea what to say, and that scared him. He was used to being in control and knowing exactly what to say or do under difficult circumstances. Now, he was being forced into a situation with no backup. It felt like he was walking a tightrope without a net. One wrong move and he would fall. And when he landed, it would hurt. If he couldn't get through to Nick, then there was a good chance that Nick would leave. That just couldn't happen. He looked at Greg and Sara, who were watching him expectantly.

"As soon as he is done giving his statement to Brass I will talk to him" He tried to sound like he wasn't scared out of his mind. His friends saw through it in an instant. It is like a drunken person who tries very hard to act sober, but ends up giving away how inebriated they really are. He was trying to act calm, but both Greg and Sara saw that he was very nervous. They couldn't really blame him. He was a very private person and he wasn't used to having to deal with the emotional problems of his team mates. But sometimes we have to do the very things that we think we are ill-equipped to do. We have to plunge into situations head first and pray that we don't drown. Grissom felt like he was standing on the boat, poised to jump. When Nick came back a few minutes later, Greg gave him a slight nod. Grissom took a deep breath and stood up.

"Nick? I'd like to talk to you." He hoped his voice wasn't shaking.

Nick gave him a hard look and crossed his arms. "So talk."

"I mean, somewhere private." Grissom had to bite back anger. Nick was just being belligerent.

"You know, I really have to stay here with Greg". Nick would never admit it, but he was just as afraid as Grissom was. It was Greg who spoke next.

"Nick, man, I'm fine. Sara will stay with me, and if you deprive me of time alone with her, well I will never forgive you. This is as close as I am ever going to be to having her in bed with me, and I don't want to spoil it by having you hanging over my shoulder." Greg was grinning, but he was giving Nick a look. It told him to stop procrastinating and just get the talk with Grissom over with. Sara was laughing at Greg's comments as she playfully pushed the two men out the door, and shut it behind them for emphasis.

Grissom motioned for Nick to follow him. "Come on Nick. Let's talk".

*                      *                      *

_So tired of walking 'round, draggin' this ghost_

_I can't escape the constant weight that wears on my bones_

_Too strong to rub it out; it's stuck like a stain_

_A permanent reminder – driving me insane_

*                      *                      *

They walked until they found an empty stairwell a couple of floors down. It looked like it hadn't been used in some time, and it seemed like it was an ok place to have a conversation. Nick didn't know if he was supposed to start talking. Should he apologize? Or maybe he should start from the beginning? Before he could figure it out, Grissom spoke.

"I'm sorry".

Well that wasn't what he had been expecting. He looked up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'm sorry. I have been completely insensitive towards you lately. I have been so busy acting like your boss that I forgot to be your friend. And it wasn't until today that I realized how much you need friends right now. I had no right to attack you like that at the lab, but more importantly, I am apologizing for three months worth of neglect. I haven't been there for you."

"It's not just you. It's everyone. I just feel like you guys aren't as concerned. I don't need you to hover over me, but it would be nice for people to try and show me a little compassion." He paused and stared into Grissom's hurt eyes. He continued. "That's what I would have been saying if I hadn't talked to Greg earlier. I was so ready to blame you and everyone else for my problems. But Greg made me realize that I have not been exactly forthcoming with my emotions. I have been bottling everything up, and then wondering why no one knows what's wrong. You haven't neglected my feelings Grissom; I have been hiding them. I should be apologizing to you. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. I brought the majority of the problem on myself.

Grissom was shaking his head. "How can you say that? I am the one who didn't notice how troubled you are"

"How could you? I have been coming into work trying to pretend that everything is just dandy. And then when you guys do ask how I'm doing, I tell you I'm fine. No wonder you haven't noticed my problems."

Grissom smiled sadly. "How about we agree that we both messed up? Maybe we should start over."

Nick returned the smile. "I like the sound of that. You want to start?"

Grissom nodded. This was the tough stuff. "So how are you? I mean, how are you really doing? How do you feel?"

"Like I want to die". The words slipped out so fast that Nick wasn't even sure that he had said them. The look on Grissom's face told him that he had indeed spoken the words aloud. He quickly continued.

"Wait, no, that didn't sound right. I am not thinking about dying. I just wish that the pain would go away – permanently. I sometimes think that things might have been better if I had….."

"Stop. Right there. Stop. I don't even want to hear you finish the sentence. You are lucky to be alive. You deserve to be alive. You think things would be better if you weren't? Well think about this then: if you were dead, we would all be in mourning now. Sara, well I thought she was going to die of heartache right there in the hospital when we thought we lost you. Warrick, he would be consumed with guilt. Hell, he still is, even though you're still here. Catherine, she would have had to tell Lindsey that you were dead. Think about what that would do to that little girl. If you had died, well, God only knows how Greg would have handled it. The kid idolizes you Nick. And if you had died, then I would be sitting somewhere wishing that I was dead too. Because I can't bear the thought of losing you. You are one of the best people I know Nicky. So before you start thinking that things would be better if you had died, remember: you wouldn't be in pain, but we would. We would all be lost inside, because we would have lost you. So please Nick, don't ever think that things would be better if that woman had killed you. Because it wouldn't. I guarantee it." His voice broke as he choked on he sudden outpouring of emotion. Nick felt his own eyes burn as tears welled up. He hadn't even thought of that. He had never once considered how hard it would have been on his friends. It was still hard on them. He was not the only one wrestling with his ghosts. Everyone had been touched by what had happened, albeit in different ways. He drew in his breath and looked at Grissom.

"I had never thought of that. I am so sorry. I take that back. You're right; things wouldn't have been better if I had died. But it still hurts. I am still going through some emotional turbulence here. I don't know how to make it go away. I just want it to go –" his voice trailed off as he fought back the tears. Grissom sat down beside him and patted his knee in a very fatherly sort of way.

"I don't know how to make the pain go away either Nicky. But I do know that it will get better. You have to have trust in time. Eventually the pain will start to fade. It won't be easy. But you are strong and you are young. You are so busy dwelling on the past that you are forgetting to think about the future. I am not saying to just push everything aside. But take the time everyday to think about what you want to accomplish. Hang onto your dreams Nick, because if you don't, then Rachel will have won. Don't stop dreaming. And one more thing: try every day to think about the good things in your life. There is lots of stuff to complain about, but there is even more stuff to be thankful for. Focus your attention on that. " His voice was very kind and his words were far deeper than anything he had ever said to Nick before. But they made sense. Nick wiped his eyes and vowed that he was going to change his life around. He had been given a second chance at life, and he didn't want to waste it by allowing himself to be consumed by his troubles. He smiled at Grissom.

"Thank you. I needed that. Now, at the risk of sounding like I am changing the subject, can we go see if Brass has managed to track down Father Manilla?" 

Grissom laughed. "Sure. And Nick –" the young man turned to face him. "If you ever need to talk, I am always willing to listen."

"Thanks. Now let's go!"

*                      *                      *

They found Brass in Greg's room talking to Sara. Both of them looked very serious. 

Nick spoke up. "Well? Did you find him?"

Brass shook his head. "We can't find any trace of him. My men have been all over the hospital. He's not here."

"Dammit! Without his statement, we don't have enough evidence to get a warrant  - do we?" Nick had a look of desperate hope on his face.

Brass shrugged. "We have your statement; that might be enough. But it's a second-hand account. The judge might not allow for a warrant to be issued."

Greg piped up from his bed. "Um, guys? Not that the case isn't important, but have we stopped to think that Father Manilla may be in danger? I mean, this Ray Jacobs guy knows that Father knows at least part of the story. Father Manilla may be a target." He looked worried. Nick swore under his breath. He hadn't even thought of that. He turned to Brass.

"We need to find him." 

Just then, Grissom's pager went off. He looked at it.

"It's Catherine. She must have gotten some information about the note. Sara, you and I should head back to the lab and see what she's found out. Nick, do you want to come?"

Nick looked torn. He wanted to stay with Greg, but he also wanted to work on the case. Greg saw this and quickly settled the issue.

"Look, I am so tired that I am going to fall asleep the minute you all leave. Nick, go with them. There's no point in you wasting your time here when you could be working on the case. You can come back in the morning – mainly because you need to drive me home. So go on. I will be fine".

Nick grinned at his friend's determination. "Alright. But if you need me, call, ok?"

"Yes mom" Everyone laughed at Greg's sarcastic response. Sara, Nick and Grissom followed Brass out of the room. Brass looked at the closed door and lowered his voice.

"I am going to post an officer outside the door – just in case. I don't know where this Jacobs guy is, or how much he knows. I think it is a good idea to have someone keep an eye on the kid until he's released in the morning".

The suggestion made sense and there was no argument from any of the CSI's. They walked out of the hospital and headed back to the lab. 

They didn't know it yet, but the case was about to blow wide open.


	7. Sound of Silence

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Honestly, I don't know what to say to you guys anymore. You are just all so fabulous and wonderful and supportive that I am at a loss for anything new to say about you. Maybe I will consult a thesaurus so I can find more words to describe your awesomeness. CSI does not belong to me something that depresses me every time I write it.  Oh!  I think you will be happy to note that I have finally managed to find my way out of the plot grave that I had dug for myself. Hopefully, the story will actually start moving forward, seeing as it has been trapped in some sort of strange, driveling vacuum for the last three chapters. I've got my fingers crossed – have you?

*                      *                      *

The ride back to the lab was silent but for the first time in a long time, there was none of that awkward tension in the air. Sara had grown used to the sounds of people not talking to one another. It was the strangest sort of silence because although no noise was made, it spoke volumes about the people encompassed by it. For so many trips in the last three months the sound of silence had been the only accompaniment. But now as Sara, Nick and Grissom drove, there was only a companionable sort of quiet. No words were spoken, but none needed to. There was a calming sense of release. The smoke had cleared and the team was finally ready to become a unit again. For three months they had been working together separately. They were individuals when they should have been a group. It seemed now that the healing process had begun and they could finally move forwards in their lives. Since that awful day in Rachel's kitchen they had all been living in a sort of time warp where they were never able to progress into the future. They had been rooted firmly in the past. Yet today had been a pivotal day for them. It was on this day that the dam finally broke and month's worth of emotions and frustrations had sprung forth. Yes it had been painful, but it had been high time for them to face the demons. Now that they had dealt with them, they could focus all of their energies on this intense and highly personal case.

Catherine was waiting for them when they came in. "How's Greg?"

Grissom answered. "He's fine Cat. He's going to stay overnight, and Brass has placed a guard on him just in case. But we lost out key witness. So please tell me that you have some good news for me". 

"Well I have news, but I don't know if it's good." She hated to crush their hopes like that. "I have spent the better part of the day with the handwriting analyst. I have learned more than I ever need to about what a person's handwriting reveals about them."

"So what does out note writer's hand writing reveal about him?" Sara was itching to get the information.

"Well I learned that the person writing the note has a tendency towards organization, they were shy, they are left handed and that they were very, VERY nervous when writing their note"

Nick was impressed. "You can tell all that by the way they write?"

Catherine grinned. "Well I can't, but our analyst sure can. It has to do with the way your letters slant, the size of the letters and the way that you draw your loops and dot the 'I's'. It's fascinating stuff actually; you can tell a lot about a person by the way they –"

"Catherine?" Grissom interrupted. "That is interesting but that information that you gave us doesn't do anything to help us narrow down who wrote it."

Sara spoke up excitedly. "Yes it does! All we need to do is get a sample of Ray Jacobs' writing and compare it to the note!"

"Not necessary." Catherine said. She looked puzzled; she still didn't know the details of what Nick had learned. "Who is Ray Jacobs? Never mind; fill me in later. Anyways, I already got a sample and the analyst confirmed it. I know who wrote the note".

"Well if it wasn't Jacobs' – seeing as you don't know who he is yet –then who was it?" Nick said looking quizzically at Catherine.

"The note was written by Rodney Thorpe – our victim."

*                      *                      *

For a moment nobody spoke. And then they all spoke at once.

"What?!" "You're kidding?" "Are you sure?"

Catherine held up her hands. "Whoa! One at a time, please! I am going to explain it to you, if you would all hush up for a second!"

They grew quiet as they looked at her with expectant eyes. She began to tell how she had made this startling discovery.

"The handwriting analyst said that it seemed strange that the writing on the note would be indicative of nervousness, given the confidence that the killer seemed to have displayed at the crime scene. He said that statistically speaking, criminals who perform murders that are so detailed and so well thought out would have written the note beforehand and they would not have been nervous about it. He also said that our killer was unlikely to be shy – as the note indicated – because of the intimate nature of the crime scene. So he asked for the victim's driver's license. He compared the signature and suggested that we obtain a sample of Rodney Thorpe's writing. I went over to Mr. Thorpe's hotel room and searched it. I found a memo in his briefcase and I brought it back here. The analyst said the writing was a dead-on match. It matched right down to the way he crossed his 'T's'. So whoever killed these men had Mr. Thorpe write that note. He knew that if he had the victim write the note, we would trace it back to someone who was already dead."

Grissom shook his head. The killer had thought things through. "Have you contacted Mr. Thorpe's family?"

"Still trying. There's been no answer the last couple of times. Brass said he'll keep trying." Catherine was glad that she wasn't the one who would break the tragic news to the family. Having a loved one die was hard enough. Having them be brutally butchered was quite worse.

"So where do we go from here?" Sara looked at the senior CSI's intently. For once they didn't have an answer. They had exhausted almost every option. The note had been their best chance at finding the killer and now it was useless. Any physical evidence that they had recovered had either yielded nothing or had yet to be processed. They had reached a dead end, at least for the time being. While they were trying to figure out their next move, Nick filled Catherine in on what he and Greg had learned that evening. He told her about Ray Jacobs' and about losing Father Manilla. He looked tired as he spoke. This case was getting increasingly frustrating. They needed a break. They were about to get just that.

*                      *                      *

The ringing of the cell phone interrupted any conversation. A quick check determined Nick's phone to be the culprit. He flipped it open and answered. The team obviously couldn't hear whoever was on the other end, but judging by the fact that Nick's eyes were now as big as saucer's, they had to be telling him something good. He managed to mumble a good bye and turn the phone off. He was staring at it with a look of complete shock on his face. His team mates were looking anxiously at him. He looked up and tried to focus his tired mind into forming something that resembled a coherent sentence. He had to make this good. This was likely going to be the defining moment in their case. 

"That was Brass". Oh, good start Nicky he grumbled to himself. Way to open the biggest conversation we may ever have in the dullest way possible. He tried to be a little more theatrical as he continued.

"He finally contacted Thorpe's wife. He managed to learn why Thorpe was out here visiting" He was practically shaking with excitement. Grissom glared at him.

"Nick, you are starting to act exactly the way Greg does. Might I remind you that being dramatic tends to annoy me? Please tell me there is a point and that you are going to get to it soon." 

Nick didn't even flinch. When he told Grissom what he knew, his boss would forget his annoyance in a heartbeat. He continued.

"Rodney Thorpe was out here visiting an old friend. An old friend by the name of Father Martin Manilla".

*                      *                      *

For the second time in ten minutes the room exploded as everyone began to speak at once. When no one would listen to Nick asking them to be quiet, Catherine finally got fed up and put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Grissom and Sara stopped yelling theories at one another and looked at her.

"Thank you. Now, Nicky, did you have something you wanted to add?"

He smiled at her. "Thank you Catherine; I do have something to add. Brass also told me that he was able to get a warrant for Ray Jacobs' arrest. The judge apparently thinks that Jacobs owes us at least some sort of explanation for what the priest said. Brass is bringing him in now."

Grissom looked relieved. "Thank God. Now maybe we can finally get some answers about what happened in the desert last night." He would have said more but Nick suddenly looked like he had had the idea of the century. 

"What is it Nick?"

"I think I know where Father Manilla might be! It just occurred to me, just this second. Do you mind if I go check? I mean, I feel sort of responsible. He did take off on me. He probably didn't trust me to protect him – can't say I blame him; my head was in the clouds at the hospital. But now I can reassure him that he'll be safe. He's probably really scared for his safety right now."

Grissom thought momentarily. He didn't need everyone there when they questioned Jacobs. And finding the priest would take a load off everyone's mind. Plus, they needed his statement anyways. "Sure Nick. Take Sara with you. Just bring him back here when you find him, ok? Brass is going to need his statement".

Nick agreed and together he and Sara left the lab. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. It made perfect sense to him now. There was only one possible place that a priest could go to in their times of trouble.

"Where are we going?" Sara looked at him.

He simply replied: "To church".

*                      *                      *

CSI Headquarters – Interview Room #3

Grissom entered the interview room with Catherine at his side. He sat across from Ray Jacobs, the man who was their prime suspect in the brutal murders of two people. He would be the first to admonish that you can't judge a book by its cover, but even he would admit that Jacobs didn't fit the profile of a murderer. The man in front of him was an imposing six foot-three with shaggy blond hair that hung down to the collar of his dusty denim jacket. His eyes were green and they carried a sense of quiet dignity. His face was weathered by the sun and right now wore an expression of utter calm. He looked like a man who had nothing to hide. But looks can be deceiving. Grissom led off the line of questioning.

"Mr. Jacobs, am I to understand that you are waiving your right to counsel?"

"Yes sir, I am" His voice was deep and gravelly.

"Very well. Are you aware that at any time you may request the presence of a lawyer?"

Jacobs nodded. "I am aware of that as well sir. But it won't be necessary. I will tell you all you want to know".

Catherine and Grissom exchanged looks. Catherine spoke. "Are you aware that two people were found brutally murdered in the desert early this morning?"

"Yes ma'am I am. I saw it on the news this afternoon. It's a crying shame."

She smiled a hard smile. "Yes it is. Tell me, do you know why Father Manilla would say that you had gone out to an abandoned church in the middle of nowhere? Do you know why he would say that you hid buckets of sheep's blood there?"

Ray shook his head, almost sadly. "No ma'am. I don't know why he would say that. I wasn't anywhere near that church of his. I haven't been there in some time now."

"But you admit to being there before?" Brass interjected.

"Yes sir. I went out there quite some time ago to check up on it for Father Manilla. But I've never been back there."

"Did you happen to see anyone the last time you were out at-" Brass consulted a file "-Christ the King?"

"Yes sir, there was a woman there."

Grissom's heart leapt into his throat. This is it, he told himself. "Do remember the name of the woman you met that day?"

"Oh yes sir, I could never forget her. Her name was Rachel Hubert".

Grissom slumped back in his chair.

*                      *                      *

CSI Headquarters – Main Lobby

Warrick was racing towards the lab. He had finally gotten an ID on the second body. It had taken nearly all day, due first to poor photos taken at the scene, and then later due to a backup in the dental records. But he had finally identified the second victim. He asked where Catherine and Grissom were, and was told they were interviewing a suspect. He decided to interrupt. This was important. Grissom would understand.

*                      *                      *

Holy Order of the Cross Church

A couple of wrong turns later, Nick had pulled up alongside Holy Order the Cross. He was sure that they would find Father Manilla inside. Little did he know that something else would be awaiting him.

*                      *                      *

Somewhere…

_It was oppressive here. How long must this go on? The evil was growing impatient. It needed to do this – NOW. It was time. The blood shed was not over. In fact, it was just about to begin._

*                      *                      *

CSI Headquarters – Interview Room # 3

"What was your relationship to Ms. Hubert?" Grissom tried to keep his voice calm. He felt Catherine clutch his hand under the table.

With a sigh, Ray Jacobs began to recount his relationship with one Rachel Hubert. His eyes got a distant look in them as he traveled back in time, to the place where he had first met the woman who would later dub herself the "New Messiah…..

_She had been sitting in front of a grave with her head in her hands. She had been sobbing to herself but had looked up when Ray approached. Her eyes were so sad that he couldn't help but go and talk to her._

_"Miss? Are you alright?"_

_She had wiped her eyes absently. "No, I'm afraid I'm not. I don't know why I keep coming here; it brings me neither answers nor closure. But I just feel like I owe it to him, you know?"_

_He had sat down beside her. "Owe it to who?"_

_"My brother Cory" she gestured towards the grave. "He died almost ten years ago, but it feels like it was yesterday. I named my son after him; do you want to see a photo?" She brightened momentarily as she showed Ray the picture of her son. He smiled._

_"He looks like a great kid."_

_"He is. Just like his uncle was…." She began to sob again._

_"Miss? Do you mind if I ask what happened to your brother?" He handed her a handkerchief._

_She gratefully accepted it and blew her nose. "My brother was a very good man. He was full of dreams and wild ideas. I used to tease him about those big plans of his, but secretly I wished I could be more like him. He was going to do great things you know." Her voice grew hard and her eyes grew dark as she continued. "But life had other plans. This world can be so cruel sometimes. My brother was corrupted by it. It took his dreams and crushed them. He was subjected to one failure after another. Every time he managed to get back on his feet, this world would knock him right back down. In the end, the world, and all that is wrong with it, is what finally took him away from me."_

_"What happened?" He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for her brother. To be on the receiving end of constant disappointment must be devastating._

_"He killed himself. He took Daddy's gun and took his own life. He left me a note saying that he couldn't stand to live anymore in a world that was so cold and uncaring. He said that the evil was greater than him. The day he died was the same day I lost my life. He was all I had. And now I have nothing!" A fresh wave of sobs swept over her. Ray had stroked her hair and tried to reassure her._

_"Shhh. Don't say that. You have your son. He needs you. Your brother wouldn't want you to be so unhappy"_

_She had smiled. "Thank you. You know, you are the first person I have been able to really talk to in a long time"…_

Ray looked at his audience as he retold his story. All three of them looked completely engrossed in his story. He continued without any prodding.

"After that, I went out to visit her at her home a couple of times a week. She often talked about how the evil was the stronger force, and how the dreamers would always be run down by the world. At first I was intrigued by what she had to say. We were both just a couple of lost souls. A couple of fallen angels. I didn't think too much of it. I thought that she made some interesting points, even if they were a bit dark."

"Did she ever make reference to the 'New Messiah'?" Brass asked quietly.

"Yes sir. It was an inside joke. I used to tell her that she sounded like she was going to revamp the world's religion and she would jokingly call herself the New Messiah. I had no idea that she was serious."

Catherine spoke. "When did you know she was serious?"

Ray scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well ma'am, I would say that it was around the time that she started to refer to her children as dreamers. She was insistent that they not have grand thoughts because they would end up like her brother. She said that it was too late for them ad that she was going to deprive the world of what it wanted more than anything. She was starting to get fanatical and she would get this look in her eyes when I talked to her. It was all getting to be too much for me and I cut off my relationship with her. Not long after I heard that she had murdered her children."

"How did that make you feel?" Grissom looked intently at Ray.

"Horrified. Shocked. Sad. You name it, I felt it. I had no idea that she had that kind of capacity for evil. I never thought that she would ever do something like that. If I had had any idea of what she was thinking, I would have tried to stop her. In fact, not a day goes by that I don't blame myself for the deaths of those two little boys."

Catherine touched his hand without even thinking. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known." She caught Grissom's gaze and withdrew her hand as though she'd been burned.

It was Brass who spoke next. "So have you spoken to her since her arrest?"

Ray shook his head. "No sir. I haven't spoken to her in many months. After she was arrested I started going to Church again. I was troubled but I found my salvation by returning to God. It's never too late to make amends. Father Manilla taught me that. He was my biggest supporter and a very close friend. This is why I can't understand why he would point the finger at me. But I swear to you that I had nothing to do with the murders."

Grissom was just about to ask for an alibi when he saw Warrick waving furiously at him through the door. He looked antsy. He must have identified the second body. Grissom quickly excused himself and stepped outside.

"What is it Warrick?"

"I just got the ID back on the second body. It's bad Grissom."

"Who was it?"

"A priest. A Father Martin Manilla".

And the world stopped.

*                      *                      *__

_The evil was growing impatient. It didn't know how much longer it could survive in here. It was stifling. The evil was on fire because it was in the one place that evil is never supposed to be. But evil doesn't play by the rules. The evil had turned to the one place that no one ever thought that it would go. As the good approached, the evil readied itself. Its weapon of choice may have changed, but its intent was the same: Destroy the good._

*                      *                      *

Holy Order of the Cross Church

 "Father Manilla?" Nick called out as he and Sara entered. "Are you here?"

The response came from inside the actual Church. "I'm here. Come on in."

Nick and Sara entered the sanctity of the Church. They found Father Manilla standing near the altar. He looked very calm. He also looked very glad to see them.

"Father! I was so worried!" Nick exclaimed as they walked closer. He introduced Sara and asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "Why on earth did you leave? We've been looking all over for you!"

Father Manilla smiled slightly as he pushed his black hair off of his pale face. "I'm sorry if I worried you. But I just got scared. All I could think was that Ray might come after me, so I ran".

Sara cut in. "Didn't you think that this would be the first place he'd look?"

His brown eyes flashed briefly. "I didn't even think of that. I guess I am pretty lucky, huh?" There was something different about his eyes. They weren't the same muddy brown. Now they seemed much darker, much more intense.

He had seen that look before. But where?

*                      *                      *

CSI Headquarters – Interview Room # 3

Grissom grabbed Warrick by both arms and asked him to repeat the name. Warrick did, oblivious to the implications that this had for the case. Without another word Grissom flung open the door and burst back into the room.  

"Mr. Jacobs? Did you lend your truck to anyone yesterday?"

"Yes sir I did. That's what I have been waiting to tell you folks. One of the parishioners asked if he could borrow my car so that he could take care of some business."

Oh God. Oh God. They had it all wrong. Grissom took a deep breath and asked the most important question.   

"Mr. Jacobs, can you please tell me the name, and give me a brief description of the man you lent your truck to?"

"Sure. The man's name is Joseph Parnell. He's about six feet, mid forties I guess, black hair – but he's starting to lose it I must say - , let's see brown eyes…" He trailed off as he saw the look on Grissom's face. It was matched by the one on Jim Brass' face. Grissom was already drawing his cell phone as Brass nodded, confirming Grissom's worst fears. He dialed and prayed as he waited for his answer.

*                      *                      *

Holy Order of the Cross Church

Nick felt very cold. He couldn't quite explain it, but he knew Sara felt it too. The ringing of his cell phone halted any further thoughts. He answered.

"Stokes."

"Nick, thank God. Where are you?"

"I'm at Holy Order of the Cross Church." He turned away from the altar and walked a few feet away. "It's Father Manilla's parish.  But he's here, don't…"

"Is he with you right now?"

"Yes, Grissom, what-" that was all he managed before he heard the click from behind him. He turned around, with the cell phone still in his hand. Grissom was on the other end of the line, frantically calling his name. And then-

BANG! 

A scream followed. 

Then the sound of silence.


	8. Ain't It Funny

Author's Note: Many apologies for the amount of time it has taken for me to get this chapter done. I have been trying to get back into the swing of things (A.k.a SCHOOL) and I haven't had much time to write. But never fear, the new chapter is here! It is on the short side and it may seem like I am leaving huge chunks of information out but I promise the next chapter will be up by Saturday at the latest and it will fill in the blanks. As always, the characters don't belong to me, but for the record: I think they should.

*                      *                      *

            It's funny how things work out sometimes. People have the amazing ability to see only what they want to see. All too often, what they see is not what is really a matter of fact. They can turn a blind eye to the obvious, and instead find an answer to a question that was never even asked. Their ideas about things often obscure what is staring them in the face. When faced with something that invokes fear, a person is more than likely going to find the easiest, most painless route to remedying the situation. They forget that what is easy is not always what is best. People will allow their fear to take control of the situation. Thus, instead of controlling the situation with their head, they are now controlling it with their heart. They don't stop to get all of the facts, nor do they look for any alternative solutions. Instead, they find the quickest way out of the darkness. But sometimes escaping the darkness is only the start of the battle. While darkness lies behind, the unknown lies in front. While the darkness can be terrifying, at least one is not face to face with what it is that scares them. The unknown however will bring us right up to the doorstep of our deepest, darkest fears. It is funny how that when confronted with one's true fear; they often wish that they were back in the darkness. Back in the oblivion. Things suddenly seem much clearer in the dark. The things that we fear need not be confronted. We can simply tuck them away and pretend that the solution we have found is the ideal one. Sadly, our solutions rarely get to the heart of the problem. They are merely a "quick fix" and an attempt to reassure ourselves that we are in control. But we aren't. As long as we live in fear, we are not the ones in control. The fear is. And fear is a very close friend of evil.

*                      *                      *

Grissom's found fell from his hand. Everything was in slow motion. The phone seemed to fall at a rate of speed that defied the logic of gravity. The sound of Catherine pushing her chair back was a long, harsh scratching noise. It should have been fast, a sharp noise that would be over before it really begun. Yet it wasn't. The chair dragged across the floor with a bewilderingly slow groan. There was a cacophony of voices. All trying to talk at once. But where they should have been talking at lightening speed, they were slowed down to an unintelligible mumble. The words were warped, like a tape that is being played far too slowly. It is funny how time slows down when the truth finally hits you in the face. It is a mocking gesture, intent on making you see the error of your ways. And as his phone fell, Grissom could see all of his mistakes come rushing towards him like a freight train. He had only looked at one possible solution. He had failed to look beyond what lay in front of him. He was so convinced that Rachel was their culprit that he had not even entertained the possibility that there was another explanation. When Nick had told him about Ray, he had simply twisted the information to conform to his pre-existing hypothesis. He had taken the facts and not fully explored them. He had assumed that the priest was telling the truth and that Ray Jacobs was a murderer. He never even thought about questioning the priest. But now he was acutely aware that Father Manilla, the real one, was very much dead and that the man claiming to be Father Manilla was very much alive. Worse, Grissom now had two of his closest friends at the hands of the mad man. He was only half listening as Brass began shooting orders. He heard himself tell Brass where Nick and Sara were and he heard Brass tell someone (Grissom wasn't even sure who) to follow him over to the church. Grissom felt very mechanical as he followed Brass to the car that would take him to Holy Order of the Cross.

He could only pray that they wouldn't be too late. The sound of silence was still ringing in his ears.

*                      *                      *

It had happened so fast. One moment Nick had been on the phone talking to Grissom, the next he was back in a nightmare he didn't want to repeat. He had heard the click from behind him and realized that it had come from the safety of a gun. A gun that was in the hands of a man whom Nick had trusted. In that instant Nick knew what it was about the man's eyes that were suddenly so different. They were no longer the eyes of a beleaguered parish priest. They were the eyes of evil. There was no light in them, no sign of anything resembling human emotion. They were dark, bottomless pits that were devoid of any capacity for goodness. The eyes held only anger, only cynicism, only hatred. They were the eyes of someone who long ago had sold their soul in return for something that they thought the world owed to them. Nick had been so mesmerized by the eyes that he had not even seen the gun at first. He was aware of it only when it exploded like a fire cracker. The bullet had rushed out so fast that the human eye can't even register that the bullet is in motion. Whether or not it hit its desired target, Nick would never know. Bullets don't discriminate. Their only purpose and their only reason for being is to inflict bodily harm. There are no other uses for a bullet. They are weapons of destruction that work in terrifying synchronicity with the gun to take down whatever it is that the evil deems necessary. The bullet had erupted and a scream had rung out as it found its mark. Nick was transported back to Pandarus Point, back to the kitchen, back to the nightmare that he had been trying to battle for three months. But this time, he was not a part of the nightmare. This time, he was on the outside looking in.

"Sara!" The word was screaming in his head, but he hadn't spoken it aloud. He had dropped his cell phone, thus killing his only connection to the world of sanity. He dropped to his knees beside Sara and began to frantically search for the wound. He found it in her right shoulder, just below her collarbone. A quick probe with his fingers proved that the bone was still intact. It also told him that the bullet was still lodged in her shoulder. The wound was bleeding, though not as badly as he would have expected. She was the one who had screamed, though more from shock then from pain. She had succumbed to unconsciousness almost immediately. A quick check told Nick that she was still breathing. He was relieved beyond words. This was his fault. She wasn't even supposed to be here. She had come along to help him, and instead found herself on the receiving end of a bullet. He carefully pulled her into his lap, in an effort to make her more comfortable. His mind was racing and he tried to sort through his jumble of thoughts. He needed to get Sara to the hospital, but he also needed to make sure that this man didn't get away. He was still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. This man was obviously not a priest; that much was abundantly clear. He was a murderer but Nick still didn't understand how all of the pieces of the puzzle were supposed to fit together. The easiest way to solve a puzzle is to find the corner pieces, or the most obvious clues, and work your way inwards from there. It can be time consuming, but if you try and sift through all of the pieces of information at once, you will just find yourself searching harder than you really need to. Nick needed to get the answers to this puzzle. And he needed to get the answers now. 

"Who are you?" his voice was surprisingly strong though he couldn't yet bring his eyes to meet the eyes of the man who stood before him.

"Just a simple parish priest" the words were cold and the smile on the man's face turned Nick's stomach. He was mocking Nick. Mocking him for the fact that he had believed the story that the man had told him.

"Look man, don't give me that. I want to know who you are!" his voice was rising. The man watched him carefully for a moment and made a decision.

"Give me whatever weapons you guys have on you, and I will be more than happy to tell you what I know" Nick didn't like it but he didn't have much choice. He removed his and Sara's gun and slid them across the floor, one at a time to the man. The man who Nick had known as Father Manilla began to speak again.

"My name is Joseph Parnell. I used to be a parishioner here. Long story short, I killed those two men. It's not important why. But I knew that I had enough time to get my affairs in order before I escaped. I was very careful you know. I made sure that there was no trace of me at that crime scene. I had it all figured out". A look of sudden anger and frustration danced across his face.

"But the one thing I didn't expect was the unexpected. I went out to the church to dump the buckets of blood. That was all I had to do. Then I was going to be off. So imagine my surprise when I find that I have company. You and your stupid friend just had to go snooping around. If you had just kept driving everything would have been perfect."

"There was no one else there, was there?" Nick interrupted.

Parnell shook his head. "Of course not. Only me and you two idiots."

"Did you attack Greg?" Nick's voice was controlled now, but if Parnell was responsible for hurting Greg, Nick didn't know if he could control his rage.

Parnell dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. "No. Everything happened the way Greg said it did. He heard a noise, he fell and hit his head. The only difference is that I was the noise he heard. I was going to come out and take care of business, but your friend took care of that for me. He took himself out. That fall saved his life". 

Nick felt chilled to the bone. There was not even a hint of remorse in this man's voice. He would have killed Greg and never thought twice. He tuned back in as Parnell continued.

"I thought I was going to get out of there after all, when wouldn't you know it, I run into you two coming out of the church. You had a gun, so there was no way I could pull out mine. Of all the places, in the entire world, I had the misfortune of running into the two of you – the very people I was running from. I made up the story about Ray Jacobs. I needed to keep any suspicion off me. And it worked, didn't it? I mean, who would ever suspect the priest? You certainly didn't." Nick blushed slightly. He had been played for a fool. He never even questioned the man's story about Ray Jacobs. And now here they were.

Parnell continued. "When your friend lost consciousness in the car, I saw a new opportunity to get away. I told you that he needed a hospital right away, even though there was nothing really wrong with him. I knew that you would be worried about him, so I seized the moment and slipped away. I figured by the time you noticed I was gone, it would be too late. I came here and was moments away from leaving when you and your girlfriend came in."

"She's not my girlfriend". The words escaped quickly and Nick could feel himself turning red again. Sara wasn't his girlfriend……yet. 

"Well that's a pity. Because she got involved for nothing then. I didn't want to shoot her, but I knew as soon as you took that phone call that everything was about to fall apart. In fact – " he consulted his watch "-I bet your friends are on their way here right now."

He stepped closer to them and smiled. He said conversationally: "So this is it: Time to die".


	9. Sins of the Father

Author's Note: Well here goes nothing! Let's hope that I can wrap everything up into a neat little package with this chapter. There is still an epilogue to follow, so be on the alert for that. I have to thank EVERYONE who reviewed: you guys are delightful, motivational and the most fabulous bunch of folks that I could ever expect to have read my stuff. Please keep it up! Love you lots! I also love the CSI characters but in a cruel twist of fate, they are not mine. Neither are the lyrics – they are from the song "Hero" by Chad Kroeger f. Josey Scott.

***

_I am so high, I can hear heaven.  
I am so high, I can hear heaven.  
Oh but heaven, no heaven don't hear me.  
***_

How can a place of such holiness and revere be the final stop for the path of evil? Isn't there an unwritten rule saying that evil is not welcome within the church's walls? The church is a place where the lost go to find their way. It is the place where the darkness gives way to the light. And it is the place where goodness still reigns supreme. How then can evil be allowed to step inside the church at all? This must be an indicator the strength and power that evil possesses. It can weasel its way into a place where it is clearly not welcome and then will wreak its evil ways upon those who try and stop. If evil does manage to permeate the barriers of sanctity and salvation, as it has done so her, isn't there supposed to be a higher power at work that can expel the evil with a wave of its hand? 

***

Nick's eyes were trained on the barrel of the gun that was now pointed at his head. He knew that the fates were working against him, but he had to try and save himself. If not himself, then at the very least, he had to save Sara. He would put himself on the line if it meant that there was even a glimmer of hope that she would live. He would be her hero. He owed her that much. She had come here with him and entered willingly into the nightmare that had been Nick's life as of late. Nick couldn't let anything happen to her. He needed her to live. He cared about her so much that it hurt. It physically hurt him to think that she was going to fall victim to this madman. He would protect her, or die trying. He had to stall. He had to buy himself some time. 

He wasn't sure he wanted to know the motivations that Parnell had had, but if he could get the man's focus off killing them, even for an instant, than there might be a faint chance for survival. It might mean re-entering the world of the damned but he had already been there once before. He had emerged victorious, if not unscathed. Surely he could venture into the world of bleakness and insanity once again? He had proved that he was stronger than the evil forces that were at work.

"Why did you do it?"

"It was the only way." The response was too calm. 

Nick looked puzzled. "I'm not sure I understand. It was the only way for what?"

Parnell sighed as if Nick were being stupid on purpose. "Honestly, don't you see? It was the only way that I could do it. Killing Father Manilla and his friend was the only way that I could finally attain my rightful position in this world."

"The New Messiah" the words were a whisper. Then Nick asked the question that he had been dreading.

"You took over where Rachel left off, didn't you? You are finishing what she started?"

Now it was Parnell's turn to look puzzled. "What are you talking about? Who's Rachel? And what did she start?"

Nick stared at him. The look on Joseph Parnell's face told Nick that despite the madness that was raging within this man, he was being genuinely honest when he asked his questions.

"She killed her two children. She – she almost killed me. She claimed that she was the 'New Messiah' and that she was going to purge the world of the dreamers, of the good people who wanted nothing more than success. I just thought –"

"That what? I would take over some failed attempt of some mere mortal?" Parnell's voice reverberated off the holy walls. "Do you think that I am that weak? I don't know her, but I admire her determination. She tried to attain the status of the New Messiah but clearly she did not know what she was doing. If she had, then she would not have failed. There is, and ever will be, one New Messiah – and I am it!"

This was getting more and more bizarre by the moment. Nick would have never thought it possible to find someone more deranged than Rachel, but somehow he had managed it. If he hadn't been in Church he might have taken a moment to curse at God for the sick game that was being played with his life. He held back only because it is awfully rude to come into someone's house and read them the riot act. Besides, in this house, he was pretty sure that such a display would not only be rude, but sacrilegious. He held his tongue and tried to make sense of the senseless ramble that was springing forth from Joseph Parnell. Things just didn't add up.

"Look, man, I don't know exactly what you're playing at, so why don't you clear a few things up for me?"

"Very well but do make it quick. I really must be killing the two of you and getting on my way"

Nick tried to not to physically shudder at the calmness in Parnell's voice. Pushing those comments aside, he forged ahead with his questions. "How about we start with why you killed Father Manilla and Rodney Thorpe? I know you said that you needed it to – what was it? Oh right, 'attain your rightful position' and whatnot, but tell me what that position is. And why they had to die for you to get it."

Parnell was giving him a look as if the answer was so obvious that he couldn't believe that Nick was even asking the question.

"I killed them because my rightful place is as the New Messiah. Father Manilla walked around here claiming that he was the embodiment of God. I mean, he never actually said that, but you could tell. He preached and preached but he was all talk. That's all priests are. They claim that they speak the word of the Lord, but you know what they say: Talk is cheap. You need to show what you can do. You know: you need to put up, or you need to shut up. And I finally realized that he couldn't do what I could. He couldn't change things. I needed him out of the way so that I could step forth and spread my brand of holiness. His friend, well he was nothing more than a sacrifice for me."

Nick could feel Sara stirring in his arms, but he couldn't shift his attention now. This was the most critical point. 

"So you killed a priest? Man you know you're going to burn in hell for that!"

"You fool!" Parnell's voice rose yet again. "Don't you understand? There is no hell. There is no heaven. There is only this pathetic existence. But I was going to change that. I was going to bring the knowledge. People everywhere would know me as their saviour. I was going to protect them."

"Protect them from what, exactly?"

"From the lies! From the truth! I was going to ensure that the human race would never again fall pray to the half-truths and full lies that the priest put forth."

"What lies did he tell you Mr. Parnell?"

Joseph Parnell twitched slightly. His face was flushed and he looked like a preacher. A crazed preacher, but a preacher nonetheless.

"He told me that there was salvation! He told me that prayer would be the answer! But most importantly, he told me that there was a God somewhere out there. But that's a damn, dirty lie! If there was a God, why didn't he save them? Why did he let them die?" The voice reached fever pitch.

Nick felt that faint twinge of compassion again. He couldn't help it. Parnell seemed really lost to himself. "Who didn't God save Mr. Parnell?"

"Everyone! The children, the innocent, all of them! He let them all die! If there really was a God, then there would be no death, no suffering, and no pain. But there is! That is why I had to get rid of Father Manilla. He was corrupting the minds of the people who trusted them. He told them about God and all the good that He would bring. But every night I would pray to Father Manilla's God and every night more pain and suffering would come into existence. That's when I knew that he had lied. There was no God. But there will be a New Messiah. I will end all of the hurt and the suffering. I will defend the innocent. I will be their saviour."

***

_Someone told me that love would all save us.  
But how can that be?  
Look what love gave us.  
A world full of killing, and blood-spilling, that  
world never came._

***

Grissom was praying. He didn't know what else he could do. He could only pray that Nick and Sara would be alive when they got there. Catherine was clutching his hand. Warrick looked like he was watching some strange play that was unfolding before his eyes. He looked like a spectator, not a participant. They were all hoping and praying. They could do nothing more.

***

Nick looked at Parnell with a mixture of pity, amazement and horror. This was not the answer he had been expecting. This was so unlike what Rachel had believed. Yes, Joseph too felt that he needed to seek revenge upon a world that had forsaken him, but unlike Rachel, his war was with something far bigger than life itself. His attack was being waged on the creator of life. His hatred was directed at goodness. The fight was suddenly the classic battle between good and evil. Somehow, somewhere, a compassionate man named Joseph Parnell had lost his way. He looked at the world and saw the pain and suffering that encompassed it and lost all faith. He fell out of God's world and entered a world of darkness and hate. He believed that God had turned his back on them. No, it was worse than that. He believed that there was no God. One must be dancing with the devil to go so far as to believe that what they once knew to be true is now a total lie. To Joseph Parnell, God had become a fallacy in his head. And in his own warped way, he thought that he was doing the right thing. He wanted to do the right thing. It is like the proverb says: The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Nick was simultaneously saddened and angered by Parnell. The man was on a mission. But when you dance with the devil, you don't get to lead. Now Parnell found himself trapped in the devil's waltz: a painful dance that will lead to nowhere but damnation. Joseph Parnell was too far gone to see how wrong he was.

"Mr. Parnell, I know that you want to help people. But you killed two men. How is that protecting them?" Nick kept his voice soothing.

"I don't know! But it had to be done! It was the only way that I could step into my rightful role. Now, please Nick, enough with the questions. I have already wasted enough time. There are people out there just waiting to be saved and I am sitting here trying to justify what I have done to you. I owe you nothing! You are just like the rest of them – you and her both. You don't care! You don't care at all!" He raised his gun again.

***

_And they say that a hero can save us.  
I'm not gonna stand here and wait.  
I'll hold on to the wings of the eagles.  
Watch as we all fly away._

***

There was nothing Nick could do. Parnell aimed and Nick watched with resigned horror as his finger began to pull back on the trigger. This was it. This was the way it was going to end. He had finally found his way back onto the road of life, and again the evil was going to put up a roadblock. But this time there could be no happy ending. There was no way that Parnell could miss at that distance. Nick's final thought was of Sara, and how much he wished he had told her how he felt.

BANG!

Nick was mildly surprised. Well, if this was dying, it wasn't so bad. It wasn't the way he remembered it. There was no pain, no paralyzing fear, and no bright light. In fact, his mind was remarkably clear. It took someone shouting for him to open his eyes. He realized then that he wasn't dead; he hadn't even been hit. He was still on the floor, except Sara was no longer in his arms. Instead, she had launched herself at Parnell and hit him around the midsection at the same time he had fired. It must have taken every ounce of strength that she had. Nick marvelled inwardly at her determination and her willpower. The shot that Parnell had fired had missed Nick's head by inches, and instead had found its way into the wall behind him. It was Sara who was yelling to him now, trying to get Nick to help her as she wrestled with Parnell. Nick found his legs and had taken exactly two and three quarter steps towards were Sara and Joseph were wrestling on the floor when another gunshot resounded throughout the hallowed building. And for the second time that evening, the gunshot was followed by a scream. And then the sound of silence.  
***

"Jesus!" Catherine's panicked cry echoed throughout the Tahoe as they listened in horror to the sounds of gunfire.

In a world of noise and chaos, the only sounds that the rest of the team could hear were that of their own heartbeat and the sounds of the shots from inside the building. The car had barely stopped before Brass had leapt out. He hit the ground running and yelled at the CSI's to wait in the car as he raced to get his team in place. Despite his warnings, he knew full well that Grissom, Catherine and Warrick would follow him in. He also knew that he would make no move to stop them. 

Brass and his men raced to the building and quickly had the small church surrounded. At Brass' word the teams burst through the doors. The frantic CSI's followed, without once thinking about their personal safety as they entered an unlikely war zone. As they made their way into the church, their hearts collectively stopped. Nick was sitting on the floor with Sara in his arms, as her blood pooled around him. For an agonizing instant, they all thought the worst. Then they realized that Sara was conscious and Nick was comforting her. Still unsure of exactly what had happened, they made their way towards their fallen team mates. As they got closer they realized that the blood wasn't Sara's. She was covered in it, but it didn't come from her. It was the blood of Joseph Parnell, or what was left of him. She looked up at them with teary eyes.

"He shot himself" the words were punctuated by a sob. She was crying partly out of shock, and partly out of sorrow. She had heard the last parts of his speech and like Nick, she felt compassion for him. She obviously didn't condone his actions, but she could understand his motivations. He had wanted to save the world. But foolishly, he had turned on God, blaming Him for what was wrong with society. But anyone who blames God must think: What kind of masochist God do you believe in? It is not His fault that things go so wrong. It is the devil that will lead us astray. Sara knew that the soul of Joseph Parnell would never be at rest. He had made a choice, and it was the wrong one. She was simply relieved that it was over. As the team began to swarm around them, she leaned back into the safety of Nick's arms and slipped into a peaceful unconsciousness.

***

Sara's Hospital Room – Two Days Later

Nick watched Sara as she slept. Warrick would be here soon and he would stay with her for a while. Nick would go home, shower, maybe sleep a little and then come back. He couldn't bear to be away from her for too long. He wanted to be with her, yet he felt oddly uncomfortable in her presence now. He had confronted his feelings about her, but he knew he would never tell her. He had talked to her a lot in the last few days and he had learned something. She had told him that she understood Joseph Parnell. She said that she wished that there was a hero out there who could do what Parnell had wanted to. She wished there was someone who could protect the innocent and make the world a safe place at last. Her ideals were lofty and Nick had felt his heart sink. He could bring her many things, but peace and happiness for all was not one of them. He slipped out of the hospital. The nightmare was over at last, but he found that he suddenly had a new set of demons to wrestle with.

_***_

_Now that the world isn't ending, it's love that I'm sending to you.  
It isn't the love of a hero, that's why I fear it won't do._

***


	10. Epilogue Unhappily Ever After?

Author's Note: Well I personally am glad to see this story end. I don't think it was anywhere near as decent as "New Messiah" was, and to be honest, I didn't enjoy writing it as much. So, many apologies for this story. But I have two more ideas in the works right now: one is a Warrick-centered piece (but no worries – Nick and Greg are also prominently featured!), the other is a romance. But let's take things one step at a time. Here is the epilogue – the characters belong to me no more now than they did when I started.

*                      *                      *

            Ahh, the happy ending. The mainstay of books and movies. The happy ending always sees everything wrapped up into a neat little package. Everyone walks away from the story a better person then when they started. The happy ending is what everyone strives for. Without the happy ending, what are you left with? The answer is simpler than you may think.

_Life._

That is what we are left with when the happy ending doesn't exist. This is not to say that a happy ending is impossible, but you will never know if you are entitled to a happy ending until the moment before your life leaves you. Up until death, we are constantly struggling to find that happy ending that exists only in movies and books. But as long as our life is pushing forward, there can be no set ending. Certain events in our lives may end on a happy note, but this is only one chapter. We need to look at the story of our lives to evaluate whether or not there is even such a thing as a happy ending. So what then do we live for? The answer to that is also simple. We live to create chapters in our lives that will ultimately create our life story. While not every chapter is a happy one, it is only a small part of the greater tale. How these chapters fit together in the end is what makes our life important. If we live the good life, then we can overcome these difficult times and the end result will be something worth remembering.

            Nick finds himself in the dilemma about whether or not the ending is what he wanted or not. On one hand, he confronted his personal demons and overcame them with dignity and grace. The road to self discovery is a painful one, and our thoughts and actions during this time can be incredibly complex. Yet in the end, it is all worth it. Nick found this out first hand. He learned some important lessons, not only about himself, but about the functions of life as well. He learned that evil is prevalent in this world. We can never mistakenly assume that the evil is gone for good. It will lie dormant but eventually will erupt with unrelenting fury. Evil cannot be contained. It can transcend walls. It can transcend our innermost beliefs and desires. It can transcend space and time. Evil can be enticing. Sometimes, we don't even know when we are being seduced by evil. Sometimes evil can take even the best intentions and turn them into something far more sinister. Take Joseph Parnell. He had a good heart and wanted nothing more then for there to be peace and goodwill amongst men. But somewhere along the way, he allowed evil and darkness to guide his thoughts. He became so ensnared in his own evil machinations that he couldn't have escaped, even if he tried. This is what Nick learned about the world. He learned that sometimes good can conquer evil, but that sometimes the good must concede defeat. It is a never ending war. As long as there is good in the world, there will be evil. As long as there is evil, there will be good. As long as one is true to oneself and is aware of what side they want to fight on, then their life will be worthwhile. However, if you allow yourself to drift into the dangerous territory in which evil resides, then God help you, because you will be lucky if you are able to find your way back. 

            He also learned that coincidence is a funny thing. It is what life is made up of. Many things that happen in our lives are a product of coincidence. They are a product of chance. There will be debates about chance and fate, but perhaps there is a healthy balance of both. Nick learned that coincidence is a pertinent part of life. It was a coincidence that the bodies were dumped in the same place. It was a coincidence that the note mentioned a "New Messiah". It was a coincidence that the innocent man knew Rachel, while the real killer knew nothing of her. Coincidence can be overwhelming. We attribute it to other factors, such as the aforementioned fate, but often it is what it is meant to be: an occurrence of events or ideas in the same way or at the same time, apparently a mere accident. Coincidence is both fascinating and terrifying. Whether we believe in chance or fate, there is no denying that everything happens for a reason. In Nick's case, things happened so that he could learn some important lessons. Some were about very abstract concepts. Some were far more personal. 

            He learned lessons about himself. He also learned that he is the type of person he wants to be. He does what is right to him, even if it means trusting someone whom he had never met. Sometimes the choices we make are the wrong ones, but we are not to be expected to be infallible. Nick also learned that he can be a strong person even when he thinks that he is in the depths of weakness. He faced evil for a second time, and once again emerged triumphant. But he didn't do it alone. This takes us to the most difficult lesson that he found himself learning.

            He learned that he has the ability to care about someone more then he ever thought possible. He learned that he would be willing to lay his life down for that person. He learned that there is someone out there who makes him want to wake up and face the day. Yet with these lessons came the aching realization that what he feels and what he can do are two different things. He can't give her what she wants. Is it because he fears her rejection or he fears what may happen to him if he tries? Much as he wants to, he can't do the things that she wants to see happen. What he doesn't realize is that those are just words she is saying. She doesn't expect him to do those things. Yet instead of talking to her, he buries the feelings into the depths of his heart. He will never tell her. He is too afraid of failing her. What he is offering won't do. In his eyes, he can never be what she wants. In her eyes, he is all she has ever needed. But they will not venture into the dangerous waters of love. They are too afraid of losing sight of the shore. They would take risks with their lives, but not with their hearts. They will not speak of this. Ever.

He knows too well the repercussions of not talking about what you are feeling, yet he is blind to this fact when it comes to her. She, the one who dreaded the silence, will not voice her thoughts. Some people never learn.


End file.
